King Frost
by r2metoo
Summary: It is said that at anyone foolish enough to be outside during the first bite of frost will be kissed by the Frost King and taken to his palace in the Wood Beyond The World. Happy Holidays Destiel fic from me to you.
1. Prologue

**My next chapter of Dirty Deeds should be up in a day or two, but here is a Christmas/winter holiday fic I've been working on for a while. I haven't chopped it up into chapters yet, but I'll be posting every now and then until Christmas. It's based on "The Snow Queen" by Hans Christian Andersen, only with tons of Destiel and tons of Slavic fairy tale elements. No Sabriel this time. **

**Dean and Sam have the same age difference in this story as they have on the show, and at the beginning, Dean is about thirteen and Sam is nine, then we jump five years and Dean is eighteen and Sam is fourteen. They are not related for the sake of the story, but family don't end in blood. Castiel is...well, just read. I hope you enjoy! **

**}O{**

It is said that if any are foolish enough to exit into the first snow of twilight, that he may be chosen to venture to the Wood Beyond the World where he will become the consort of the Frost King.

The Frost King's palace was said to be beyond the River of Sorrows, past the Forest of Tears, and above the Mountain of Loneliness. He is as fierce, harsh and unyielding as the frost itself. His palace is made of ice and those that are taken there freeze to death within days and are made statues in his courtyard.

"Okay, you're really laying it on thick there, Sammy," Dean Winchester said with a laugh. It was still November, a bit too early for a frost, but Dean shivered into his jacket.

"I'm reading the story," Sam Singer, Dean's neighbor and best friend huffed, setting his book aside.

Dean looked out the window wistfully. "It's kind of cool, though, isn't it? Being pulled away from the world into an adventure…"

Sam's wide eyes went into full puppy dog mode. "Don't say that, Dean," the boy begged.

Dean was about to respond when Sam's dad Bobby came into the room. "Hey, Dean, I just got word that your daddy won't be home tonight. Do you want to stay with us for dinner?"

"Yes, sir," Dean nodded, his heart sinking. His father was a woodsman. This was so far the longest he and John Winchester had ever stayed in one place and Dean wasn't looking forward to leaving. He enjoyed living in the little apartment above Bobby's blacksmith where it was always warm thanks to the huge boiler in the basement. He liked Sam, his very first friend, and he liked Bobby too. Sometimes when he was alone, he imagined that Bobby was his father too and he and Sam were brothers, and they lived together in Bobby's neat little cottage with the shelves of books and toasted cheese whenever you wanted it. Then he would feel guilty about wanting that and get mad at himself. Tonight, though, he could pretend and not feel guilty. Tonight he could be Bobby's son and Sam's brother, and it would be okay. Just tonight.

Sam was also excited that Dean would be staying the night. He liked having Dean with him. Even though he had lived in the town all his life, he didn't have a lot of friends, and he thought Dean was his best friend in the whole wide world. He would also dream at night that Dean was his brother, and that they would live together with Bobby for the rest of their lives. When Bobby got too old to run the smithy, Sam and Dean would take over and everyone in town would come to them to get their horses shod and their knives sharpened.

Bobby, for his part, wanted Dean to stay as much as both Sam and Dean wanted it. He had already broached the idea with John that Dean might stay through the winter when John would venture to the south. Bobby had used reason, and when that hadn't worked, threats. He was nearly sure that he had John convinced, but the old Hunter still hadn't agreed to it. Bobby wasn't sure what scared him most: that Dean would find out what John was hunting in the dark woods at night, or that Dean would never know and grow up convinced that John didn't care.

It turned out to be the latter. John never returned from his hunt, and Dean remained with Bobby. For the most part, the boy was happy, but Bobby often caught him staring outside into the night, long after he should have gone to sleep. Dean still held out hope that his father would return home one day, and Bobby couldn't bring himself to say the word "dead" to him, not that he thought Dean would ever listen to it. So when he saw Dean peering into the darkness, watching for his father, Bobby would say nothing.

It was a cold late November evening some five years after John Winchester had left for that last time that Dean found himself staring into the darkness again, unable to sleep. He was of age now, apprenticing under Bobby, and he wished not for the first time that his father could see him as a man. He wondered if John would be proud of him, or disappointed at how he stayed in one place for so long. Dean still warred with feelings of guilt for enjoying the stability that Bobby offered him, for loving a home more than he ever loved following his father all around the world. Still, he believed that wherever his father was (and he wouldn't believe that John was dead), he'd want him to be happy, so Dean tried to be happy. And for the most part, he was. He just missed his dad.

Outside, near the butcher's shop, something moved, and Dean pressed his nose to the glass to try and get a better look. It wasn't his father; the size and shape were all wrong. But it was something. Whether or not it was sinister in nature remained to be seen. Curious, Dean opened the window and was blasted with frosty air. A small flurry of snow swirled in front of the sill, and he stared in wonder. It was too early for snow. It was hardly even cold enough yet. Before he could even process this, a bit of frost smacked him on the cheek like a cold, wet kiss.

Stunned, Dean pressed his fingers against the cold on his warm cheek and stared at the wet, melting ice on his fingertips. Unsure of what was happening, he closed the window and retreated to the little loft room he shared with Sam, suddenly incredibly tired.

Careful to not jostle the boy, who had school the following day, Dean slipped into their bed and turned on his side, hand still pressed against his cheek in wonder.

Outside by the butcher's shop, a small, slim figure stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight, a smirk playing about his lips. Poor Dean Winchester was on his way to following in his father's footsteps up until this point, but the being who just cursed him had just set into motion a series of events that he hoped would release both John and Dean from their curses. He was pretty sure it would be a long time before Dean would see things that way, though.

}O{

High on the highest mountain sat a castle that looked like it was made out of glass or ice. It was small as far as castles went, though it was still large compared to a one-room cabin with a loft that suited as a second room for two growing boys. It was a surety, though, that those two boys would not give up their small, snug cabin behind the smithy for a large, rambling castle if it meant giving up their beloved Bobby. Castiel, King Frost, would bet his entire treasury that the two boys who called the blacksmith "Father" had never even thought of giving up his house to seek their fortune in the wide world.

King Frost had no powers of second sight, but he could clearly see the future of the two boys if they were left to their own devices. The one would marry the pretty milkmaid with the golden hair and take over her father's farm, delivering milk every morning as his family increased by the year. The other would romance and woo every unwitting maid and stable boy in town until one day the publican's daughter managed to tie him down for good. Both boys would be happy in their own ways, though Dean would probably get an itch every now and then and tumble a customer looking for slightly more than a new set of horseshoes, and Sam's wife would probably die in childbirth after their sixth child, leaving him bereft and directionless without Dean's strong influence in his life any longer.

But such was the life of humans. What did King Frost care, on his high mountain in his drafty, empty castle? And why was it so difficult to convince his cousin that he was perfectly happy to remain here as he was?

"He wants an adventure, Cassie," Gabriel reasoned. "We're going to give him one."

Castiel glanced back into his mirror, seeing Dean and Sam in the smithy, sweating because of the heat, their linen undershirts clinging to their muscles thanks to the sweat they were putting off. Both boys were laughing and talking as they hammered away at a chandelier some duke had commissioned that hardly tested their skill. If Castiel were to commission something, it would be far more ornate, and both boys would be working so hard at it, they wouldn't have time to talk or laugh. Castiel liked to think that he would visit them now and then while they worked on the piece, glaring at them imperiously while Sam squirmed and Dean tried to charm him. His visits would make them work even harder to please him, especially if he showed Dean just enough interest to make him think he had a chance if he kept trying. Dean would chew on his tongue the way he did when he was concentrating particularly hard and…

"Earth to Cassie," Gabriel deadpanned, snapping his fingers in front of his face.

Castiel shook himself out of his trance and cleared his throat, waving his hand in front of his mirror, turning it back into an ordinary looking glass. "Gabriel, tell me you didn't do this on purpose."

Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck in a perplexed manner. "Jeez, Cass, I thought you'd be happy…"

Castiel stared into the mirror, noting how very blue he looked in the light of his Receiving Chamber, a wasted room since he never received anyone. Still, it housed his mirror and his comfy throne and a huge fireplace that almost made his stone castle cozy.

The castle looked like it was made out of ice though it was really just unblemished blue marble, just as he looked as though he were frozen and blue, from his blue-black hair to the light blue tint of his pale skin. It was all just an illusion, though, a trick of the lighting. The old Frost King had been a bit of a drama queen and had enjoyed theatrics and Castiel just hadn't cared to change anything beyond adding rugs to the cobbled floors and cushions to the hard furniture that made his bones ache for the first week he took over as king.

"I am not happy that Dean Winchester has been put under a curse," Castiel said in a measured voice, trying to keep his irritation down. Gabriel was his cousin and close friend-perhaps one of his closest—but that didn't mean he couldn't still annoy the spit out of Castiel.

"Dean was already under a curse," Gabriel reminded him, waving his hand over the mirror. The glassy surface grew foggy and then the face of a man came up, as though rising from water. John Winchester's face held a blue pallor, just as Castiel and Gabriel's did. John's, however, was actually from cold and not because of poor lighting.

"If you wanted to give him an adventure, you could have just sent him on his way to break the curse," Castiel reasoned.

"Yeah, so he could end up frozen and in a cursed sleep like his dad? No, this is the best way, Castiel. He'll do you a solid, and then your gratitude can be that you lift his family curse."

"What "solid" will he be doing me, exactly?" Castiel asked, his exasperation showing through. "What could this boy possibly give me?"

Gabriel waved the mirror back to where Dean Winchester was standing over a barrel of rainwater, rubbing his naked chest down after a sweaty day at the blacksmith forge. "Gee, Cass, I wonder." Gabriel swirled his way to one of the sofas, his red robes spinning around his ankles as he skipped along. Castiel wondered if he were the only one of his family without a flair for the dramatics.

Castiel scowled at the view of Dean splashing cool water over his body. "Dean isn't the sort to agree to be a king's consort," Castiel said darkly, all too aware that the young man would feel even more stifled and pigeon-holed in the castle than he did. Besides that, Dean didn't seem the sort to want to play second fiddle.

Gabriel shrugged. "Who says you need to marry the guy? Slab, jab, call a cab."

Yeah, that'd be great. A small fling to leave Castiel feeling even lonelier than he already did. "I don't wish to discuss this further, Gabriel. The events have been set in motion, Dean Winchester will come to me for a time, and…we need to make a plan."

"Start with your clothes," Gabriel suggested. "That robe does absolutely nothing for your ass."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips at his cousin, but was ignored. Gabriel conjured up a rack of clothing that the old king used to wear, all ice blue velvet trimmed in silver lamé and white fur that practically dripped with the blood of baby seals and ermines. It was so not Castiel's style.

"I'm not wearing the fur of dead baby seals," Castiel reminded his cousin for what felt like the millionth time. Yes, peevishness made him hyperbolical. Or maybe it was just Gabriel.

"I think this is an arctic hare, actually," Gabriel murmured, fingering the fur.

"Great, poor little rabbit," Castiel muttered, staring balefully at the robe.

"Okay, I can work with this," Gabriel insisted. "Do you at least like the color?"

"I like dark blue. And while we're at it, can we change the lighting in here?"

Gabriel looked up at the spelled chandeliers and their blue shades. "Hey, Dean's a smith, right? Get him to make you some new lampshades."

"Yeah, great idea, Gabe. I wish you'd've come up with it _before_ you cursed him to be my slave!"

Gabriel patted his arm. "I meant that it should be one of his tasks while he's your slave. QED, cuz."

}O{

Bobby was no expert with teenaged boys, but he wasn't quite sure what to do with Dean lately. The usually industrious, busy, flirty, lovable idjit had turned despondent in a way he hadn't ever been, not even when his father disappeared. Quiet and withdrawn, Dean was moving around as though in a haze, half-asleep and depressed. Bobby could find no reason for it. Girls and boys were still lined up practically down the block for a chance to giggle at him, Sam was still hanging off of him like he hung the moon, and life was still going on as it had only a few days previous. Dean was the only change, the only variable.

Sam noticed it too. He loved Dean like a brother, followed him like a shadow, and suddenly Dean wasn't acting normal. He didn't tease Sam about how long his hair was getting, didn't call him a bitch, didn't tease him about Jessica the milkmaid who blushed when she handed Sam and only Sam their bucket of milk for the day. He worked like a machine, not laughing or joking, not threatening Sam with hot pincers or saying he was going to cram the bellows where the sun didn't shine and see if he could make a balloon out of Sam. It was so odd, so strange, so unlike Dean.

Dean hardly slept or ate, and Sam had caught him sleepwalking the last few nights. He told Bobby about it, but the old smith didn't know what to think.

"Maybe he's going through a phase," Bobby suggested. "Maybe someone finally turned him down."

Sam laughed at that, but then remembered that someone had turned him down. Jo, the barkeep's daughter, had told Dean that she had more self-respect than to jump on the same pogo stick that every other idiot in the village had ridden. Sam had been proud of her at the time, and he still was and he didn't hold it against her, but he felt that he had an answer at last, and it made him happy.

Plus, he thought it was really good that someone turn Dean down every now and then. Sam loved Dean more than he loved just about anyone else in the world, but he could be a little too cocky for his own good at times. Sam went to bed that night, secure that Dean was just going through a funk and that he'd get over it.

The next morning, Dean was gone and no trace of him was left. The only clue Sam had to where he might be were tracks of a sled that had not been pulled by a horse or any other animal. Sam had never heard of such a thing, but it was a start.


	2. King Frost

Chapter One: The Frost King

Dean spent a long time in a haze of being half-asleep and half-awake, not really sleeping, working when and where he was told, not paying attention, not feeling, not aware of anything except a pressing need to get outside at the darkest hour of night. Every night, Sam stopped him, and for a few moments, he remembered himself, who he was, and that something wasn't right, and then the haze would return and he would go back to his not-dreaming state.

Finally, though, finally he found himself where he was trying to be. He was in a sled that wasn't being pulled by anything, and he wanted to be curious about that, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. That was because he was sitting next to the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on.

"Snap out of it, kid," the ethereal beauty ordered him, so he did his best to obey. He wanted to do everything it told him to do. He called it an "it" because he still wasn't quite sure if it was a man or a woman. Its features were sharp like a man's, but there was something feminine in the curve of its cheek and its full, plump lips. The voice, though…deep, dark, rough. Male? "I'm Castiel, by the way," it said, the name not helping Dean in the least. "But most people call me King Frost. You have no idea the trouble you're in, boy."

King frost. So a male then. Dean could work with that. He smiled his usual winning smile. "Hey, handsome," he said, not sure he was heard over the howling of the wind.

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Hello, Dean."

Dean smiled again. So he did hear him. "Where are we going?"

"My place."

"Excellent," Dean decided, then leaned over and kissed Castiel on the cheek, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

Castiel glanced at the boy, not even trying to hide his annoyance. "You're going to freeze to death," he warned, pulling up the heavy rug and wrapping it once more around Dean, trying to trap his arms in the heavy fabric. Castiel, of course, was not cold. Cold was his domain.

"Why don't you think of a more creative way to keep me warm, beautiful?"

Castiel glared into the warm, flirting face of the boy next to him. This was going to be a long trial.

Dean wasn't sure what Castiel's problem was. As far as he could tell, he was in a sled with a beautiful king under the moonlight and stars, getting hit in the face with some cold wind that, okay, was kind of making his nose run and probably not in an attractive way. But still, a little more cuddling and a little less glaring was surely in order.

"Hey, got some coffee or tea or something?" Dean tried, changing tactic.

That did seem to get Castiel's reaction. The king looked up at him sharply and placed a hand against his cheek. "I told Gabriel I wanted a covered sled," he mumbled. "Maybe that's one more thing you can do for me."

Dean was about to say that he would do anything Castiel wanted him to do when his hands were full of a huge steaming mug of tea. He sipped at it while glancing at Castiel now and then, becoming more aware of his surroundings as they drove towards the sunrise and a huge white-capped mountain. At the very top of the peak was a castle made of what appeared to be blue ice and Castiel directed his sled to the high tower and set it down beyond the walls.

Castiel swished out of the sled in a few elegant movements, his dark blue silk velvet robe with white brocade trim swirling beautifully around his legs and butt, drawing Dean's attention like a magnet. Lamely, Dean managed to unwind himself from the stuffy cocoon of warmth that Castiel had wrapped him in and stumbled out after the king. He was still barefoot and in his nightshirt and no amount of enchantment could keep him from feeling cold against the icy blue marble of the castle.

The stairs to the tower followed the outward curve of the wall and were made of granite cobbles. At the top stood a small man in a dark red robe over a pristine white shirt, tight black pants and gold and red brocade waistcoat. He smiled happily at Castiel, and Dean immediately began to feel jealous. Could this little imp be the reason his flirting had no effect on the king?

"Cassie, I see you've found your prize!"

Castiel bestowed the man with the same glare he'd given Dean during the entire ride there, so Dean started feeling marginally better about his chances. "Yes, Gabriel. Thank you _so very much_. Dean, this is my cousin and waiting gentleman, Gabriel. He was in line for the throne until a certain scandal took him out of the running."

Gabriel held out a hand. "Don't worry, the role was Cassie's from the get go. I think old Uncle Zachariah liked him better than he ever liked me."

Dean shook hands with Gabriel, somewhat glad in a detached way that his mind couldn't swim around him. He was pretty sure this whole thing should be freaking him out right about now.

Castiel unhooked the collar of his robe, revealing a similar outfit to Gabriel's only his pants were white and his waistcoat silver and several different shades of blue. Dean grew up on the road with his father before he moved to Bobby's tiny village, so finery was not something he was familiar with. He liked the way Castiel's white trousers hugged his thighs, and the contrast between the pristineness of the trousers and the shiny black of his knee-high boots was completely new to Dean. He had never been to Copenhagen to see the palace guard in similar breeches, and certainly no one of consequence would ever drive through his town. In his plain bleached linen nightshirt, he felt grubby and silly.

"He's freezing to death," Castiel was saying to Gabriel. "Look, his lips are turning blue. Bathe him and dress him warmly. The green jacket, I think. Do not, under pain of death, follow through on your threat to paint dogs playing poker on it."

Gabriel gave his cousin a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Cuz. I'll take good care of Deano."

Castiel mumbled something that sounded like, "That's what I'm afraid of." Dean didn't want to go with Gabriel, he wanted to stay with Castiel, but Castiel smiled at him fondly, placed his hand on his shoulder and said, "It will be all right, Dean. I have some work to do now, and it will help me if you go with Gabriel, eat, and maybe sleep a little. Okay?"

Dean nodded because he wanted to be good for Castiel, and followed Gabriel through the castle. The room he was shown to was larger than both the little cottage and the blacksmith shop put together. The walls were the same blue ice that the castle was made of and the floors the same cobbled grey, but there were plush rugs to cushion his feet and beautiful, colorful tapestries to hold the heat in. On one wall was the door to enter, another wall held a huge fireplace with a cheery fire already crackling in it, the wall opposite the door held a floor-to-ceiling window covered by heavy draperies that were currently closed, and the last wall held a huge bed, draped with the same cloth as the windows and covered in a fluffy coverlet, stacked high with pillows.

Next to the bed, by the corner, a door was hidden by a tapestry. Gabriel pulled the tapestry to the side and ushered Dean into a dressing room with a huge copper bathtub. The walls appeared to be paneled in wood, but Dean realized after a moment that they were actually cupboards of some sort when Gabriel opened one to reveal a stack of fluffy white linen. A flick of the small man's arm filled the tub with steaming water, and another flick lit a fire in the little stove at the corner of the room. Dean stared in wonder. Baths at Bobby's house were wet, messy affairs in the kitchen where they tried to be as close to the fireplace as possible because otherwise the water went cold after about five minutes. He had never heard of a bathing room, nor would anyone of his acquaintance be able to afford a room devoted only to bathing. The houses and cabins of his village were small because small meant easier to heat in the cold winters that lasted six months out of the year. Small was also easier to build and maintain. Bobby's house was warmer than most because of the forge in the basement of the shop which stayed lit night and day because it was cheaper to maintain the fire through the night than to try and start over again in a cold forge at the beginning of the day, especially in the middle of winter. Poorer families were often given license to stay the night at the smithy during the coldest parts of the year, and in exchange they would allow Bobby to sleep the night while they fed the fire for him. The Frost King's palace was simply beyond Dean's comprehension.

"All right, let's get you cleaned up, eh?" Gabriel said kindly, lifting Dean's nightshirt. Dean panicked and swatted his hands away. "Hey, it's okay, Dean. I'm not going to hurt you or bad touch you. I'm here to help, okay?"

Dean regarded the little imp for some time before nodding, but he still grasped the hem to his own dress and pulled it over his head. Gabriel nodded and waved him into the bathtub, which was still hot and soothing. Dean's baths were usually in tepid water that Bobby had already used, so clean, warm, clear water was a luxury he decided to enjoy, barely paying heed to Gabriel as he puttered around the small room.

There was a tray resting on the rim of the tub holding a cloth, a sponge, oil, and a bar of soap. He had never seen such a perfect, white, rectangle of soap before, and he loved the way it made large, iridescent bubbles against his skin. Gabriel came up behind him and used the cloth to soap up his back, something Sam or Bobby usually did for him. When Gabriel took the oil and started rubbing into his scalp, he tensed up, unused to being treated like this.

"Relax, Dean. It's okay. It's my job."

Dean tried his best, helped by Gabriel's nimble fingers that massaged his scalp, neck and back with the oil. It felt nice, and Dean mused that he could get used to such treatment.

"Okay, kiddo, let's rinse you off."

Gabriel had done as Castiel had asked and laid out an outfit for Dean. He wasn't sure about the fit of the trousers and waistcoat, but he could magic those easily. He waved a hand to pull the plug on the tub and had Dean kneel so that he could pour a bucket of warm water over him. After that, he wrapped Dean up in yards of fluffy white towel and started to explain the clothes to him. Dean just stared at the complicated hose, breeches, buttons, undershirt, shirt, and waistcoat.

"I know it's a lot of layers," Gabriel said apologetically, "but it really can get very cold in the castle, and you'll be happy for all of this."

Dean didn't really care about the breeches, but the hose gave him pause. He'd never worn something like…like _that_ up against his skin, and he was dubious. He was…well, there was no kind way to put this, but when the gods handed out the manhood, they gave him a little extra. The hose looked confining and uncomfortable. Still, Castiel had been pretty explicit about Gabriel dressing him warmly, and Dean wanted to please Castiel, so he let Gabriel put the knitted contraption on him, thankful when it just slid over his junk and held him like a fond caress rather than like the chastity belt he feared it might be. The undershirt was also knit of something finer than linen, soft and silky feeling, and it hugged his well-formed shoulders nicely. There was a mirror near the door, and Dean was amazed at how well the close-fitting garments showed off his iron-forged muscles. He looked good, he decided, and was suddenly glad that he trusted Gabriel. Castiel would surely think he was handsome like this.

The breeches came next, and Dean became doubly happy for the hose because the breeches fit him so much tighter than his loose canvas trousers. They were buff colored with buttons going up the sides of his calves.

Next came the shirt. It was silky and soft to the touch. Rough cotton and linen were generally worn in his village, so he had no name for the substance he was currently being buttoned into. He just knew he liked it. After that, a gold waistcoat with a spotted pattern was held out for him to slip his arms into, and Gabriel buttoned it quickly, murmuring under his breath until it fit Dean snugly.

Satisfied, Gabriel stood back and admired his work. Dean still needed to don the long green coat and a pair of shiny black boots, but already the tailored clothing put his rough blacksmith garb to shame. If Castiel had found him handsome all sweaty and sloppy, Gabriel was pretty sure his cousin would practically faint at the sight of Dean in courtly garb.

"Well?" Dean asked.

Gabriel smiled. "You look perfect, kid. Cassie won't know what hit him."

Dean smiled, glad that he had Gabriel on his side. "Awesome."

}O{

Castiel stalked to his throne room, gathering his magic around him. Sam Singer was a smart boy, and Castiel was pretty sure he'd figure out in no time what happened to Dean. He couldn't just have the boy go off half-cocked, though. Dean would never forgive him if he allowed Sam to come to the slightest bit of harm, so a lot of markers were going to be called in on this one. Sam needed to be put on the right course from the beginning, and that meant the very first moment he awoke.

Castiel watched in his mirror as the boy opened his pretty hazel eyes, currently brown from his drowsy state. Sam stretched, his young muscles moving handsomely under his rough nightshirt. "Where's Dean?" Castiel murmured, trying his best to mimic Sam's internal monologue. "Dean usually sleeps in for hours if we don't wake him up," Castiel reminded Sam, feeling a little urgent.

Sam jumped out of bed, calling for his surrogate brother. He pulled on a pair of thick wool socks and raced down the little ladder of his loft, wandering around the tiny ground floor of Bobby's cottage. Dean's wool coat, scarf and cap were still hung on the knobs by the door, his wooden shoes still sitting there. Sam slid his feet into his own clogs and opened the door, wrapping a shawl around his shoulders as he peered into the cold pristine morning. A thin layer of frost lay on the ground, revealing the deep troughs where Castiel's sleigh had cut into the ground outside the house.

"Come on, Sam, you know the story," Castiel reminded him. "Remember how strange Dean has been acting? Touching his cheek? He stays up at night sometimes, right? Looking out the window for his father. Maybe King Frost kissed him."

Sam's eyes got wide at the thought Castiel embedded in his brain.

"Papa!" Sam yelled, turning back inside and running into the kitchen, not bothering to kick off his wooden clogs. They clacked horribly on the wood slats of the floor.

"Sammy, how many times do I have to tell you to take your shoes off inside the house?" Bobby's gruff voice sounded from the kitchen. "And why are you still nekkit, boy? Go get yourself dressed.

"Papa," Sam said, ignoring his father's tirade and grabbing the old smith by the arm. "Papa, Dean's gone!"

Bobby made a sound in the back of his throat. "Dean!" he shouted. "Dean, get your ass down here right now!"

"No, Papa, he's gone," Sam insisted again.

Bobby scowled at his son. "No," he said flatly, looking into the living room. "His coat and hat are still here, where would he go without them? No, he's around, son. Go get dressed. He'll be here soon."

Castiel watched as Sam went back to his room slowly, his scrawny legs looking funny in the big woolen socks. Soon, the boy was dressed in his usual thick trousers, rough linen shirt, wool waistcoat, and thick stock around his neck for warmth. He pulled the shawl back around his shoulders and went glumly to breakfast, all the time Castiel whispered to him, reminding him that the Frost King took those that he kissed to his palace beyond the forest.

"I'm gonna tan that boy's hide when he gets in," Bobby grumbled, clearly as worried as Sam was. Both Singers picked at their porridge, glancing every now and then at the empty seat where Dean usually sat and smiled, his green eyes bringing them light and warmth. "Probably should have done it ages ago," Bobby humphed again. "Idjit."

Sam wiped a tear from his eye, and Castiel felt wretched. Poor kid. Dean was all he had in the world. "You have to find him," Castiel urged Sam. "But don't go off half-cocked. You need a plan. A good plan. Think."

"Papa, I need to stop at the library before I come home today," Sam said quietly.

Bobby grunted his reply, his eyes on the empty chair.

Castiel turned his mirror towards the town "library," if the small building could really qualify as that. Still, it housed a collection of books that Sam would find helpful, and it was run by a woman who was ardently interested in educating the village. She was the sort of librarian who loved books and knew each of them intimately. She would be perfect for helping Sam find the right ones. Just in case, however, Castiel reached out to the three he knew would serve Sam best and touched them slightly with his magic.

By this time, he had used enough of his magic to make him feel chilled and sag against his throne. He retreated to the high-backed chair by the fireplace and put his feet up on the footstool, covering himself with a warm wool blanket. He was so tired that he had nearly forgotten about Dean, but that all ended when Gabriel escorted the boy into the room, his figure showing to perfection in tight breeches and a cutaway high-necked velvet coat. His cravat was simply folded, showing even better just how built his chest was, and Castiel's mouth went dry at the sight, too drained to fight against his attraction to the young smith. Gabriel just smirked and waggled his eyebrows at Castiel.

"You need anything, Cuz?" Gabriel asked, his voice concerned once he finally noticed Castiel's wan state.

"Bring me tea, will you, Gabe?"

"Sure thing, kiddo. Dean, make sure he's okay while I'm gone, okay?"

Castiel wanted to roll his eyes. Dean was immediately kneeling next to him, tucking the blanket around Castiel. "Are you sick, Cas?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Cas?"

"I, uh…it's shorter," Dean blushed.

"Very well," Castiel decided. "You may call me Cas. And no, I am not ill. I have simply used my magic over a long distance, and I am drained. Please sit down and rest yourself."

Dean obediently sat across from Castiel, still staring intently at him, as if memorizing his features. It was all a part of the curse. Dean fancied himself in love with Castiel, and would do anything for him. It wouldn't last, however. As soon as Sam came for him, Dean would wake from the curse and remember himself, and then he would surely begin to hate Castiel. The only card Castiel had to play that might keep Dean's hate from being too strong was that he knew where John Winchester was, and he knew how to break his curse. That was his only saving grace.

}O{

Sam was scared. More than scared. He'd never been beyond the confines of his little village, never felt a moment of wanderlust or restlessness. He thought Dean's life before he came to live with the Singers to be odd; flitting from town to town, sometimes living in other countries.

Other people dreamed of growing rich, buying large homes, moving away from the poor little village that they felt stuck in. Sam dreamed of being happy in his old age, married to Jessica, living with her and Dean in the smithy. He'd add to it in his dream, making a few more rooms for his and Dean's children, adding a dining room for their large family dinners. It wasn't that Sam was unambitious; it was that he was content with who he was. Grandiose dreams and summer homes on the Rhine were nothing to Sam if he didn't have love in his life.

There was only one thing that could pull him away from the village, and it was Dean. Dean was in trouble, Sam was sure of it. He had been kissed by King Frost, and it was up to Sam to go and save him. His dreams had suddenly shifted. Now they included saving Dean from a demon.

Castiel watched anxiously in his mirror as Sam prepared himself both mentally and physically for the journey he was about to take. Whatever he packed, however, would never be enough. Castiel needed to put him on the right path that would bring him to help.

"Is that Sam?" Dean asked, sneaking up on Castiel and peering over his shoulder.

Castiel gave a little start. He wasn't used to Dean's presence in the castle, or the proximity the boy seemed to feel was necessary when they were in the same room together. "Yes. He is coming to rescue you."

Dean looked genuinely alarmed by this pronouncement, which made Castiel happy. At least he retained some of his old personality.

"He'll be killed," Dean breathed. "Cas, you have to stop him!"

Castiel turned to the boy whose face was actually showing true concern. It seemed that he had hit on the one area of Dean's life that the curse couldn't touch, and that spot was Sam Singer. "Dean, you must believe me when I tell you that I will never allow any harm to come to Sam if I can help it. I will keep him safe, but you need him to come and break your curse. He's the only one who can do it."

Dean was standing incredibly close to Castiel and he decided to move even closer. "But I don't want to be rescued," he murmured before leaning in and kissing him. "I like it here."

It took all of Castiel's self-control to push the boy away. "You do now, Dean, but it's just part of the curse. It lies to you and tells you things that aren't true."

Dean frowned and grabbed Castiel by the lapels of his waistcoat, pulling him against his chest. "Dammit, Cas, I know what I want! You can't tell me that you don't want me too!"

Castiel sighed and let Dean kiss him. "I never said that I don't want you," he said patiently when Dean pulled away. "But Dean, you'll regret this later."

"I'm not a kid," Dean insisted. "I know what I want."

Castiel put his hand against Dean's cheek and stroked his lower lip with his thumb, trying to keep the blush his kiss had blossomed there. "I know that you want it too, Dean, and I know that you are not a child. You don't understand now, but when Sam comes and lifts the curse, you'll see that I'm right. Now I need to help him out, okay?"

Dean nodded, concern about Sam managing to pierce the fog in his brain. When Castiel said, "Oh no!" the fog lifted even more and Dean was able to turn his eyes away from the perfect curve of Castiel's neck to peer into the mirror Castiel had been watching for the better part of an hour.

"What is it? Is Sammy okay?"

Castiel shook his head. "No," he said shortly, his voice betraying his deep concern. "While you were distracting me, your brother walked down the wrong path. Damn damn _damn_!" Castiel gripped the frame of his mirror, upset that poor Sam had already started out wrong. "He should have taken the path to the left and he went to the right." He was currently going down the road that would lead him to a Baba Yaga. The old witch probably wouldn't kill him, but she would likely enslave him and feed off of his life force for a good long time. Someone as pure and beautiful as Sam could probably feed her magic for a good hundred years, and to him it would seem but the work of a minute.

Dean wasn't sure exactly what the issue was, but if Castiel was upset, then he figured it was pretty bad. "You can help him, though, can't you?" There was that concern, piercing the fog again. "You're so smart and beautiful, you know what to do." He kissed the little patch of hairless skin behind Castiel's ear. "I have faith in you."

"That makes one of us," Castiel said dryly, not bothering to shrug Dean's arms away from his waist.

Sam wouldn't reach the hut until the morning, and it was currently the evening on the second day of Dean's disappearance. Sam hadn't slept well since Dean had disappeared, and Castiel tried to use that to his advantage. He could delay Sam's arrival until after the old witch had eaten, which might help keep her from gobbling him up right away. Castiel scried the area and found an inviting-looking tree with a hollow area in it. He touched it with his magic and directed Sam until he reached it, suddenly feeling overcome with fatigue, and fell into the hollow.

Castiel gasped for air as he pulled away from the mirror, sagging against the hold Dean had on him. The boy's hard, muscled chest felt warm and nice against his back as the cold of the castle crept past his magic and began to assault him. He'd taken off his thick velvet robe earlier and his thin blouse and undershirt were inadequate in his cavernous throne room.

"You're cold," Dean said with some surprise. Castiel nearly squawked with surprise when Dean scooped him up and carried him to the fireplace. Dean sat down in one of the plush chairs and pulled the blanket over Castiel and himself, hugging him tight. "Is this better?" he murmured, licking at Castiel's ear. The concern that had been breaking through the fog in his brain grew a little more when Castiel didn't push him away or tell him to stop. He was clearly drained from whatever he did. "Cas, are you okay?"

Castiel dropped his head down on Dean's shoulder. "I am well. Taking care of Sam is quite tiring."

Dean huffed a laugh and stroked his fingers through Castiel's soft curls. "Tell me about it. That kid would be lost without me." He looked down at Castiel, surprised to find the king sound asleep.

Well, he had said that working his magic over a long distance was draining, and Dean couldn't really recall him sleeping the night before. Of course, Dean had slept quite well in his soft bed with its many pillows and downy duvets piled high all around him, so he hadn't really noticed. But he honestly didn't think Castiel had slept at all.

Carefully, he lifted Castiel once again and carried him up the stairs. Gabriel had shown him over the castle, so Dean knew which room belonged to Castiel, but he wasn't prepared for the opulence he found inside the tall, ornately carved double doors.

He had thought the rooms Castiel had granted him were large, but they were nothing compared to the high-ceilinged master suite. It was literally fit for a king from the bed that was practically as large as Bobby's cottage and hung with ice blue velvet curtains that probably cost more than the yearly gross pay of the combined inhabitants of Dean's sleepy little village. Probably more than two years' worth, come to think of it.

The woven silk tapestries told the story of Sigurd Dragonslayer in such vivid detail, it looked as though Brunnhildr's chain mail was actually made out of metal. Later Dean would discover that it was silver thread. At the moment, however, he had to tamp down his curiosity and take care of Castiel. In a sort of detached way, he understood that he would normally let his curiosity take over, but he was compelled to take care of Castiel first, and he couldn't quite make it through the fog to understand why everything was so different. Any time his mind tried to go down that path, he was blocked and brought back to Castiel, who was so beautiful and helpless at the moment, his dark head resting heavily on Dean's shoulder.

Dean carried him to the huge bed and laid him on top of the covers, wondering not for the first time why everything surrounding Castiel was silver and blue. Sure, they were good colors for him, but the colors combined with his title were more than overly exaggerated. Castiel was alive and vibrant, and the colors made him seem cold and aloof. Even through the fog of enchantment, Dean could recognize that Castiel had heart and strong feeling, and what he had done for Sam had clearly taxed him so much, he had fainted not just once, but twice from exhaustion.

Sam was the only person Dean knew of who loved him unconditionally. Not that Bobby and his dad didn't, but it wasn't the same. There was something so pure, so good about Sam's love. Dean knew he could search the world far and wide and not find the likes of it again. Just thinking about how trusting and open Sam was with him lifted the fog a little more. He knew he was enchanted, enough to resent the feeling, enough to know that he wasn't behaving normally. Beyond that, however, when he tried to think or recall anything, his mind was completely overtaken by thoughts of the Frost King.

He frowned at Castiel, still fully clothed, slightly pale even for him. Dean knew somewhere inside that if he had his brain to himself, he'd resent the hold Castiel had over him, but he also knew he'd enjoy seducing and bedding him. Dean was always the sort that when handed rules, would work hard to find loopholes. Just like now. Castiel wouldn't allow Dean to undress him normally, but passed out and helpless, Dean felt it his duty to remove Castiel's restricting clothes, dress him in the silky gown hiding under one of the pillows, and tuck him safely into bed. He couldn't object to that. He didn't need to know just how long it took Dean to perform the simple task, or the way Dean's eyes and hands roved over Castiel's strong limbs, broad shoulders and narrow waist.

Dean was just pulling the covers over Castiel when Gabriel came into the room, golden eyes narrowing at the boy. "What's going on in here, kiddo?"

Dean explained what happened and Gabriel shook his head. "He didn't even eat dinner. Well, come with me, we'll eat what he doesn't, and I'll be sure to make him a big breakfast tomorrow."

Dean followed the smaller man down the grand stairs and down some more until they were in the neat kitchen of the castle.

"Can I ask you a question? Why are you the only servant here? I thought you royal types had servants for your servants."

Gabriel smiled and sculpted mashed potatoes on a plate until they were in a bowl form, then spooned thick meat stew into the divot. Dean stared at the concoction that was so foreign like everything else. At home, he was given either potatoes or meat, but not both, and if they made a stew, the potato would go into it, not used as a dish of some sort, and it was always brown. This concoction was definitely red-tinged. He probably seemed so ignorant and uncouth to Castiel. No wonder the king was always pushing him away. Dean was a rough boy with a checkered past, no family to speak of, just an adopted father and brother who, as humble as they were, were still far too good for the likes of him.

"We have magic to keep things tidy. It's only me and Cas, and we're sort of the black sheep in our family. We don't need much. I like to cook, so, we just fend for ourselves," Gabriel said with a shrug, then sat down across from Dean with his own plate. "This is called _coque au vin_, and I learned to make it in France."

"Wow," Dean said appreciatively, taking a spoonful of both broth and potato the way that Gabriel did. "French food, just for me."

"It might just be me and Cassie, but that's no reason for barbarism," Gabriel mused. "Here, try some wine with it. It's the same wine I used to make the broth."

Dean stared in awe at the blood red liquid Gabriel poured into a crystal glass. Wine was just one more thing he'd never done, one more thing that was too fine and nice for the likes of him.

He took a sip, surprised at how dry it was, yet thick and sweet. Nothing like the harshness of the grain alcohols he usually drank, or the wheaty brewed beers. It was warming and spicy and Dean decided he liked it. He suddenly hoped that he wouldn't acquire too fine a taste and be spoiled for the simpler life he knew at—at—

Thought suddenly fled his mind as the fog clamped down on his brain and he looked around in alarm. "Do you think Cas is okay?" he asked anxiously, setting the wine down, forgotten, turning away from the food that only moments ago had his mouth watering in anticipation of trying his first French cuisine. "I shouldn't eat if he isn't, it wouldn't be right. I should go to him..."

He started to get up, but Gabriel clamped a hand down on his wrist, stopping him. "Dean, can you tell me about Sam?"

Dean stared at the doorway. "Sam?"

"Tell me about him. Tell me about your little brother."

Dean relaxed just a bit back into his chair. "Sam," he said, eyes still on the door.

Sammy.

"Dean, I'm so sorry I did this to you and Sam," Gabriel said sadly. Dean managed to focus on his face, surprised to find him looking so sad. Gabriel generally smirked like a snake, but the corners of his mouth were currently turned down sharply. "This is my fault that you're like this, and I put Sammy in danger. I swear to you, I'm going to keep him safe."

Dean nodded, understanding what Gabriel meant about Sam, but not what he meant about the other thing. What was it? Why was it so hard to think? "Thanks, Gabe. If anything ever happened to Sammy, I'd...I don't know what I'd do."

"I know, Dean. That's why I'm going to take care of him. No harm will come to him. I swear this to you."

Dean picked up his fork and speared it into his food. "Thank you, Gabriel. And thank you for dinner. It's delicious."

* * *

**So...this is sort of a filler chapter. The action will start next chapter. Next chapter will be uploaded next week. **


	3. Baba Yaga

Chapter Two: The Baba Yaga

}O{

Sam awoke to a white world. It was the sort of morning that would have his neighbors saying, "Ah, Mother Holle has shook out her blankets!" or, "I see King Frost has been riding by!" depending on their superstitions. Sam shivered into his wool coat and pulled his shawl closer around his arms, standing from his little tree hollow and stretching his frozen limbs. He smiled fondly at his little shelter, grateful for the protection it had offered him. Without that little hollow, cramped and uncomfortable as it was, he surely would have frozen nearly to death in the night. Hopefully it was a sign that Fortune had smiled on him and his way to Dean would be clear.

Sam opened his little pack and took out some mean provisions—just a little dried meat and fruit—to get him going on his way. He ate and walked at the same time, not wanting to waste any time. Unfortunately, the ground was now slippery with melting frost and he found himself skidding along the path, sometimes backwards, sometimes forward, sometimes falling down entirely. A few hours later, by the time he found a little snug cottage amongst some fir trees, he was muddy and wet and so cold that he was convinced he would freeze to death if he stood still for any length of time.

He had a small amount of money and a few items to barter with, so he approached the cottage hoping he could trade for a hot cup of tea and a fire to warm himself by. At the door, he smiled kindly at the little grandmother who was heavily lined in the face and streaked with silver in the hair. Sam was far too good-natured to be put off by such a thing, however, and gave a little bow.

"Please, I am not asking for charity, I have items to barter for a few moments by a hot fire and a cup of something hot to drink," he said respectfully.

"My dear boy," the old woman said in a syrupy-kind voice, "come inside! Do not stand out in the cold or you'll catch your death!"

Sam followed her through the sitting room to the tiny but neat kitchen where a fire roared and a kettle hung on a hob. The grandmother pushed the hob into the fireplace and shooed Sam into a chair. By the fire, an old hound looked Sam up and down and Sam gulped at the view of red eyes in a black furred face. He was starting to understand the house he had walked into because Sam read the right sort of books and was still young and innocent enough to believe in them.

Under the table, a cat rubbed against his legs and out in the yard a tree rustled its branches. Sam gulped and looked around nervously.

"Here we are," Grandmother said, setting down a tea service and a plate of bread and butter.

When the old lady turned to the stove to fry Sam an egg, he threw the dog a piece of bread, and when she went to find some preserves, he tipped some of his creamed tea into the saucer and set it down for the cat.

"Now," she said breathlessly, settling her bony frame into the chair opposite Sam's, "tell me what brings one as young as you all this way into the woods to visit an old lady like me."

Sam told his story, then held up a red kerchief all embroidered with golden flowers. "If you have anything to help me, I would trade you this for it."

Grandmother reached out a hand to the rough linen cloth, her eyes sparkling for she was the sort that liked pretty things. "Yes, yes, I can help you," she said. "There is a castle if you continue on this road, and I have heard a story that a few nights ago, a youth came there, a young man of striking beauty and sweet manners, and that the queen and her prince have quite fallen in love with him and took him into their hearts and home."

Sam marveled at this. It sounded a lot like something Dean could do. He was very handsome, and he could be pleasing if properly motivated. Had he somehow managed to rid himself of King Frost's clutches?

"Thank you," he said, standing. "I am sure I have worn out my welcome now, and will be on my way."

The old grandmother stood as well and made a pretense of going to get Sam's pack and clogs, but of course she meant to do no such thing for she was a Baba Yaga. The minute she turned, the dog said, "Go, child! Leave this evil place! Do not wait for your shoes; better to have your feet freeze off your legs than stay here a moment more!"

"Come," the cat purred, "I'll show you to the back door."

Sam quickly followed her to a small door in the side of the kitchen, hardly big enough for much more than letting the cat and dog in and out, but he managed to squeeze through the tight opening when he angled his shoulders, though a piece of his coat was left behind as the price for admittance. In the yard, he took one of his garters and tied it to the branches of the tree so he could escape that way through the forest where the old woman couldn't see him as well as if he had stayed on the path.

"You useless dog!" she scolded when she saw Sam had fled. "Why did you not warn me he was leaving?"

"For twenty years I have kept the wolves from your door, ungrateful woman," the dog answered, "and you have hardly given me the hard crusts to eat, but he gave me his whole piece of bread and butter. Why should I have been unkind to the only person to ever show me kindness?"

Baba Yaga lifted her cane as if to hit him, but he growled and snarled so at the threat that her courage left her and she instead turned to the cat. "And you! Showing him your door to leave instead of crying out to me! Why, you cry out at anything day or night, why would you let my tasty morsel escape me?"

The cat twitched her tail aloofly. "Why should I bother myself to care for your needs when you have never seen to mine? For fifteen years I have kept the mice from nibbling your stores and you have hardly given me fresh water in a bowl. He gave me tea and cream in a porcelain saucer. Why should I have not shown him the way out if he asked for it?"

Baba Yaga once again raised her cane, but the cat showed off her long, ivory claws and teeth, reminding her how easily she might slice through flesh with such sharpened blades at her disposal, and Baba Yaga lost her nerve to punish, lest she lose her life's blood in the process. Angry, she turned to the garden and looked this way and that down the paths leading to and from her house, but could see nothing of her prize and all his soft, tasty flesh.

"You!" she admonished her large, lusty fir. "How could you have let him go? I would have buried his bones beneath your branches and allowed his marrow to nourish your roots."

The tree swished happily its branches, now decorated with a yellow garter. "I have shaded you from the harsh sun in the summers and shielded you from the wild North Wind in the winter for sixty years, old wretch, and you have never even given me a piece of twine to hold my branches steady. He has given me his own garter for decoration, and see how beautiful it looks on my boughs! Why should I wish him harm when he does so much good?"

"I will burn you to the ground!" Baba Yaga shouted, shaking her cane at the tall fir.

"Burn me, and I will topple over onto your cottage and burn you with me!" the tree threatened.

Defeated, Baba Yaga returned to her cottage to mourn the loss of her dinner.

}O{

Sam hurried through the woods, trusting on his sense of direction to keep him going relatively northward. It was cold and painful, after the loss of his shoes, and the sock not held up by a garter kept slipping down his calf to the point that he finally took it off. Within a half hour, a trail of blood flowed behind him on the path of pins and needles, and Castiel watched helplessly, unable to do anything more than direct his path. Gabriel was helping him with his magic today since helping animals and trees talk took a lot of work, as did obscuring Sam from Baba Yaga's all-seeing eyes.

"Here's a good spot for him to set up camp for the night," Gabriel decided, scrying ahead on Sam's route. "These trees should give him shelter."

Castiel nodded. Both he and Gabriel were nearing the end of their power, and Sam still had a long way to walk.

"Is he going to be okay?" Dean asked anxiously, staring intently into the mirror.

"He'll be fine," Gabriel promised, his head spinning and feeling weak. "Hey, Dean, could you go down to the kitchen and make us some tea? We'll finish up here, and then we'll need some forification."

Dean nodded, hurrying off to accomplish the task. He had felt pretty useless while his two captors worked to keep Sam safe, so having something to do, something that required his hands, was a welcome relief. Plus, he was doing it for Castiel, and that made him all the more anxious to do it well and right. Within a half an hour, he had a tray prepared with bread, butter, tea, cream, maramalade, and sausages. He covered the tray with a large silver dome and carried the whole thing up the stairs where Castiel and Gabriel gratefully accepted the offerings.

"Keep an eye on Sam for us while we recharge," Gabriel suggested, shoving a sweet roll into his mouth.

Dean didn't need to be asked twice to keep an eye on his surrogate brother.

Gabriel's hands shook when he picked up a cup and saucer, and Castiel just stared at the tea set, afraid that his hands were even worse. Working magic from long distances was not a sustainable medium. Once or twice, sure, several months apart, just short bursts. The last three days he'd worked several spells a day, and he was starting to worry he might do permanent damage to himself.

Dean seemed to sense his distress and poured a cup of tea, holding it so Castiel could sip at the hot liquid and let it warm his insides. As his strength regained, Castiel reflected on how different Dean was from his other curse victims. So far in his ten year reign, there had only been four others, and all of them had been positively obsessed with him, but not in the caring way that Dean was.

The others were captivated, of course, since the curse made them that way. They had all been controlled by lust, however. Most of them waxed poetical about his appearance, his physique, his castle, everything to do with looks and power. Dean was…he was making things difficult, that was for sure. He noticed Castiel for his intelligence, wit, and quick thinking. Yes, he called Castiel beautiful and his eyes traced Castiel's face and figure, but there was always that underlying emotion underneath it.

Almost like Dean was as fascinated with Castiel as Castiel was with Dean, which was completely disconcerting since the curse should have kept him from being so fascinated. He should have been practically freezing to death, able to do little more than stare at Castiel and do his bidding if a request was made. Dean cared for him. Briefly, hope flared in his chest that it wasn't just the curse.

"I'm fine, Dean," he said, taking the cup in both hands. "Please, can you go to the mirror and tell me what Sam is doing now?"

Dean was quick to do what Castiel asked and studied the mirror, his brow furrowing. "What the hell, Sam?"

"What is it?" Gabriel asked, sitting up in alarm.

"He's helping a little bird get back in its nest," Dean said with wonder, shaking his head a little. "This kid, I tell you."

Castiel and Gabriel looked at each other, relief clearly etched on their faces. Gabriel sank back down into his chair with a happy sigh. "Oh, thank the gods!"

"What do you mean? Why?" Dean came back to them and sat on Castiel's footstool, taking his feet into his lap and rubbing his hands over the black leather boots to help warm Castiel's legs a little.

"Could you tell what sort of bird it was?" Castiel asked, too tired to push the boy away. Besides, he really could feel Dean's warmth through the leather of his boots.

"The nest was pretty high up," Dean mused. "Hawk, maybe?"

"That's good," Gabriel breathed. "Your brother is a genius at quests, Dean."

Dean smiled happily. "Sam is really smart," he agreed, pleased that he wasn't the only one saying that. "The other kids pick on him sometimes for being so smart, call him Teacher's Pet and other names like that, but it's just 'cause they're jealous. Sam is amazing. He can see so much more than normal people."

"Well, he knows what he's doing," Castiel assured Dean. "One of the hardest parts about directing questers is that they take so long to understand that their childhood stories are true and that they need to incorporate what they learned into their quest. Sam seems to have figured this out already, as we saw at Baba Yaga's house. Sam isn't merely reacting, he's actually acting on his own volition."

Dean searched his memory, trying to bring back the stories his dad used to tell him when he was a boy. It was hard with the fog; all he could really recall was the story of King Frost that Sam had read to him all those years ago.

"Basically," Gabriel started, knowing that Dean would need help, "when you are out in the world on a quest to break a curse, if you see an animal in distress, especially a baby animal, helping it will bring you good fortune. Sometimes magical creatures put themselves in peril in order to test young heroes in order to see if they're worthy of the quest. Many of them fail, but the ones who are smart and pure of heart like Sam recognize what must be done. Sam knows that no matter how much of a hurry he's in, he won't gain anything by passing up the chance to help someone out and maybe gain a little information."

"The best part is that now Gabriel and I can relax a little. The fledgling's mother or father will guide Sam to Queen Anna's castle, and she is expecting him."

Dean went back to the mirror to watch the events unfold.

Sam was no longer shivering and his feet had gone completely numb. He was worried about this fact because he was from the north and he was more than well versed in how easy it was for one such as him to die of frost, and being forced to leave Babba Yaga without his provisions had been a huge blow. His tinderbox and warm blanket were inside, and his shoes were certainly gone. The best tool he currently had was his little knife that Bobby had bestowed upon him for his thirteenth birthday, and it was woefully inadequate for much more than whittling a small stick. Sam was, however, well versed in living in the forest thanks to his father, and he knew how to make a fire without a tinderbox. It would be hard since his hands had started going numb, too, but he knew he had to do it or die.

Gathering wood was a little difficult in that there was plenty of it, but it was mostly pine, and what wasn't was largely damp from snow. He finally found a nice little pile, though, and set it up, happy that the exertion of finding the wood had warmed him up some. He cleared brush out of the way, except for what he wanted to use as kindling and set a few stones around his small circle to help contain the fire. Sam knew better than to burn the forest down. Then he started rubbing his sticks into the kindling, watching as sparks flew, knowing that the fire wouldn't hold until sometime after his arms felt like they would fall off.

Sure enough, just when he felt like his arms and hands were so overtired as to be completely useless, one of the sparks finally hit into his little bundle of dried kindling and he had a fragile fire. This was when it could all go horribly wrong and he could add too much wood and smother the fire, so he went slowly and started building, lighting only one piece of wood on fire until he had a tidy little stack and blessed, welcome warmth was flaring before him. He held his hands and feet forward, wincing at how painful it was to warm his feet after they had nearly frozen solid. He found needles around him and wove a new garter out of them to distract himself from the painful sensations shooting up his legs.

Just as he was contemplating a nap, the sound of flapping was heard over the crackling of his little fire and he looked over to see a baby bird in its first molt moving helplessly on the ground. Since Sam had read all the right books as a child, he knew better than to leave the bird for dead. In stories, birds were horribly useful and tended to know all the gossip in a certain area, and many a hero had gotten his princess by helping the children of eagles and ravens. Sam immediately went to the little helpless thing and lifted it with gentle hands.

"What happened to you?" he asked the downy fluffball. It felt so tiny and fragile in his hands.

"My brothers pushed me out," it answered sadly. Sam was not surprised that it talked because that was what always happened in the stories.

"Why would they do that?"

"Because I'm the only girl and they said that I am too weak to be any good in the future."

Sam scoffed. "Well, that's silly of your brothers. Some of the most capable people I know are women. And if it weren't for women, there would be no children."

"My brothers say that the reason Father favors me is because if he didn't take care of me, I'd die because I'm such a weak little girl."

Sam smiled. "I think your brothers are jealous that you're the only sister in the group. In my village, fathers tend to favor their daughters and mothers tend to favor their sons."

"Does your mother favor you?" the little bird asked.

"My mother died when I was just a baby," Sam said sadly. "I never knew her. I just have my father and my foster brother, and they both love me very much."

The little bird looked down. "I loved my brothers. I thought they loved me too. But they just tried to kill me."

"I'm so sorry about that," Sam whispered. "Do you want me to try and talk to them?" At his new friend's nod, he looked up at the tree, trying to think of the best way to scale it. He was a pretty decent tree climber, but he was slightly out of practice since he was growing older and had little time for playing anymore. Most of his days after school were spent at the forge, helping Dean and Bobby fill the orders they had. Still, he managed to climb the tree with the little bird in his pocket. "My name's Sam, by the way," he said as he hefted himself into the first branch.

"I'm Periwinkle," his companion said. "You can call me Perry."

"All right, Perry, how far up is your nest?"

"More than this," she chirped. "You can see the top of the next tree from my nest."

Sam looked over at the next tree and figured he was about sixty feet from being able to see the top of it, so he got to climbing.

"This is so nice," Periwinkle commented. "I like your pocket, Sam."

Sam smiled. The little flutterings against his chest felt like a second heartbeat. "I imagine it's nice and warm in there," he mused.

"Oh yes! I like it a lot!"

It turned out that Periwinkle was a chatterbox who spoke mostly rhetorically. Once Sam realized that she just wanted to chat and didn't care if she got an answer or not, he concentrated on hoisting himself up branches, checking his progress at each one until he finally caught the top of the tree next to him. It turned out that he needn't have asked since the nest was huge and unmistakable. Perry was certainly a baby hawk or eagle, and not a raven since the feathers lining the nest were brown and white. Inside the nest were four more balls of fluffy down, but to their credit, they appeared to be in a state of panic.

"We should throw ourselves over the side!" one was wailing. "Our poor sister, why should we have assigned her a fate we are unwilling to face ourselves?"

"We should!" one agreed, and the other two chirped their own acquiescence.

"No, wait!" Sam shouted, pulling himself up to the nest. "I've got Periwinkle here!"

The four brothers started wondering aloud if the strange human could possibly have their sister as Sam produced her from his jacket pocket, and then there was an even louder burst of amazement. Sam started to think that birds were sort of idiots and began to extract himself from the situation. He was forestalled by the arrival of the father, a huge hawk with light brown wings and a dark streak across its eyes.

"What's going on here?" the great bird demanded, digging its sharp, terrible talons into Sam's arm. "What do you want, Human? Tired of trying to hunt me on the ground and failing so you come to my house for my children?"

Sam's mouth opened in pain and surprise, but he was unable to make a reply. Just as he had given up hope, sure that this hawk would dash him to the earth, little Periwinkle poked her head from the nest and chirped, "It's okay, Papa! I fell from the nest and this man picked me up and put me in his warm pocket, then carried me back home. He means us no harm."

The great hawk eased up its talons from Sam's arms. "Boys, is this true?"

Periwinkle's brothers started chirping at the same time, their voices a cacophony that made little sense to Sam, but their father seemed able to interpret their rapid-fire shouts and screeches. Sam stayed quiet during the din, worried that any movement from him might cause the huge hawk to pluck his eyes out. After a few moments of screeching over each other, the fledglings hushed up and the hawk turned back to Sam.

"It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude," the bird said, releasing Sam completely.

Sam sagged against the trunk of the tree, suddenly aware of how very frightened and tense he had been all this time. It was as though his body, now that the danger was eliminated, was finally reacting to it, so now that he was safe, he started heaving, his heart pounded, and his body shook. He worried he'd fall out of the tree due to the violence of his delayed-reaction panic, but he managed to hold onto the branches and stay firmly in the boughs as the hawk watched him with huge, unblinking eyes.

"Thank you," Sam stuttered when he was finally able to speak again.

"I am Evergreen," the hawk said. "You have met my daughter Periwinkle. These are my sons, Ochre, Scarlett, Silver and Umber."

Sam nodded to each of them. "It is very nice to meet all of you," he said. "Thank you for your hospitality, I'll climb back down now."

Evergreen halted him. "I owe you a life debt, Sam. It would be foolish of you to leave now without my help."

Sam nodded, glad that he wasn't the one to bring up the favor Evergreen owed him. He figured it would be impolite to just demand his debt be repaid immediately . "Well, let me tell you what happened," he started, and in a few minutes, he had told his story. "I was told at Baba Yaga's that there was a boy who fits Dean's description at a castle near here, and I thought it was a good place to start."

"I have seen the castle and the youth you are speaking of. I can bring you there so you can see if it is your brother."

Sam gasped at his good fortune. "That is very generous of you, thank you," he said.

It was a few hours before they left because Evergreen had to take care of his children. The giant hawk thought it would be best to go at night when the humans usually sleep because he figured it would be easier for Sam to sneak into the guarded palace that way, and Sam agreed. Soon, though, as the moon began to rise, Sam found himself seated on Evergreen's back, attempting to stay put on the slippery feathers. He had nothing to hold onto, aside from where his knees hugged the bird under its wings, so the flight was not nearly as pleasant as he had originally thought it might be. Still, they covered ground faster than Sam would have walking, managing to go many, many miles in the space of only a few hours.

Just around midnight, a huge multi-turreted castle loomed wide and tall ahead of them, and Sam stared in awe at the silhouette that moved closer and closer as his companion flew towards it.

Like Dean, Sam was completely ignorant of palaces. In his sleepy village, it was no good to talk of them or think of them. Sure, he had seen a few sketches of Amaliensborg and Fredensborg, but the small pictures that were contained on a page held nothing to the sheer vastness of the palace that currently loomed before him. He could not comprehend what the rooms must look like or how many servants there might be inside. His entire village could fit in one tower, he was sure of it.

Evergreen alighted at the top of one of the towers and pointed Sam to where the trapdoor was that would lead down inside the castle.

"I don't know anything of rooms and human ways," Evergreen said as he and Sam bid each other goodbye. "I do hope you find your brother, Sam. Here is my feather. Keep it close to your heart and don't lose it. If you ever find yourself in mortal peril, hold the feather and think of me. I will come to you immediately, no matter the distance."

Sam took the feather and tied it to a cord that hung around his neck. "I will treasure it, Evergreen. Thank you for all your help."

Evergreen gave Sam the slightest bow, then took off into the night.

Sam's stocking feet froze from contact with the grey stone of the castle. Without Evergreen's warmth under him, his whole body soon followed the path of his feet (pun intended), and he was shivering as he hefted the trapdoor that led into the tower of the castle. Inside, he warmed only slightly, but the huge tower he was in was not being used or warmed in any way. He found his way to the stairs that hugged the curve of the tower and using the moonlight that fell in through the arrow slits in the walls, made his way down to the next level.

Here there were carpets and some tapestries, but the hall he found himself tiptoeing through was musty with disuse and clearly deserted. Sam wondered how wealthy someone would have to be in order to have a whole hall full of rooms—at least sixteen by his reckoning—completely empty. It seemed such a waste.

Before he exited the hall, curiosity got the best of him and he opened one of the doors to find a room as large as the blacksmith shop with a huge canopied bed, a wardrobe that could easily hold his, Bobby's, and Dean's clothes for the past five years quite comfortably, a desk stocked with papers and pens and pots of ink, just laying out as though they were easy to come by and did not cost a small fortune. Sam was tempted to try and scratch out a few words with the precious commodities that he had rarely ever used, but he didn't have the time. He remembered how large the castle had seemed from the outside and worried that it would take him the better part of the week to find the young man he was searching for.

Thankfully, Queen Anna was a cousin of Castiel and Gabriel's, and had been expecting Sam, so after he wandered for a few more hours through empty halls and the servant's hall, growing colder and wearier with every step, he found a cheery apartment all lit with torches and warmed by a huge fireplace. Sam's breath caught in his throat at the warmth and beauty he found here. Everything glowed around his eyes like gold, and his cold, shivering body began to shake even harder. He was so tired and so hungry, and this room was the very definition of cozy from the heavy drapes on the windows to the thick carpets under his feet. There was a sofa and overstuffed chairs by the crackling, cheery fire and someone had left a half-eaten piece of cake sitting in a pretty rose-decorated plate on a low table by the sofa. Sam stared at the plate and tears came to his eyes, bitter and hot, that someone had eaten so much that they couldn't find their way to eating more. He sank to his knees and bowed his head and sobbed at that sad, abandoned piece of cake, so lonely and forgotten in its pretty little plate, all forlorn and unwanted. It was too much. He couldn't even explain what it was. His sobs just kept coming louder and louder and he hardly noticed when he was jerked to his feet by rough hands and the sounds of shouts, incoherent in his sleep-worn, starved ears.

He was pressed against a wall and his cheek was slapped, but not harshly, and the shouting continued until a very soft voice broke through all the noise, and then Sam was pushed into the sofa and a blanket was wrapped around him. His sobs continued, but now and then, that soft voice would speak again. Something warm was held to his lips, and he drank it when it entered his mouth. It was sweet and creamy and he'd never had anything quite like it. Soon after, his world went dark and he felt himself drifting in this strange sea of warmth and softness.

* * *

**In HCA's story, Gerda wanders upon a conjuring woman, and it's flowers that alert her to the problem. I changed it to Baba Yaga because I love the mythology surrounding her. She is nearly neutral, out more for herself than anything else. She's been known to be helpful, though she's usually not, and meeting her is almost always a bad thing. I did not give her the usual cottage, though, standing on chicken legs. I figured that would have clued Sam in a little too much, so it's just a normal cottage. **

**I'll be updating again before the end of the week. Enjoy! **


	4. Queen Anna

**Apologies, I meant to post this yesterday, but stuff has been happening because Christmas is totally a surprise to me every year somehow. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Three: Queen Anna

}O{

Dean had been confused when Sam had broken down in such close proximity to his goal. His sobbing had, of course, alerted the palace guards to the intruder, and if it hadn't been for Queen Anna stepping in and helping Sam, the guards surely would have thrown him in jail. Dean had held his breath tensely, unable to take comfort in Castiel's assurances that Sam would be fine as Sam was interrogated for many long minutes.

Anna had been expecting Sam, though, so when she realized there was a disturbance in her apartments, she had donned her robe and gone out to rescue Sam, who she found to be half out of his mind with fatigue and hunger. She had impressed upon the guards that had Sam meant her harm, he would already have done so, and that she couldn't conscionably place such a young man so obviously ill into her dungeon. Instead, she had instructed the guards to put him in one of the abandoned rooms he'd walked by earlier, with two guards at the door, and that she wanted to be alerted when he awoke.

To calm him for the night, she had given him warm honeyed milk to warm his belly and fill it until he was able to eat, and it had done the trick. He was out in moments.

Both she and Dean sighed in relief in their separate castles so far away from each other.

"See?" Castiel asked from behind him, a warm hand on his shoulder. "I told you my cousin would look after him."

"I thought the guards were going to hit him," Dean breathed, his heart still pounding a little.

As Sam recovered in Anna's palace, Dean went to work in Castiel's. Spying on Sam during his recovery had given him a few ideas for Castiel's lighting issues in the Great Hall. Instead of making a chandelier to hold candles, which burned out quickly and cast very little light, he followed a design he saw during his spying and made a contraption to hold hanging oil lamps. He designed four to go throughout the hall, all with clear glass lampshades that would bring more warmth into the cold, blue hall. It was exactly what Castiel could wish for.

As for Sam, he awoke after a day and a night of sleeping, ravenous and ill from going out into a snowy world with only a wool coat, clogs, and a nearly threadbare shawl for protection. His first day awake, he was too weak to answer most of the questions put to him and could only say that he was looking for his brother and that his brother must be at the palace.

The guards who had started out wanting to throw him head-first into a jail cell had been warmed by his beauty and his obvious love for this brother that he rambled about sadly, and soon they were begging their captain to ask the Queen or her consort to do something to help the poor boy.

When Sam was well enough to sit up and talk more, his sweetness and unassuming good manners further enamored him to the guards, and they began fattening him up with treats from the kitchens. Anna decided it was time to talk to him herself, though she already knew his story, and went to his room.

Sam stared at the beauty that had come to see him. Her red hair fell loose around her shoulders and down to her waist, and her gown was made of some sort of gold material that rustled when she walked. He had never seen anything so lovely in his life.

Sam was wearing a nightgown and robe as he had done since he had been incarcerated in this room, but he still slid out of bed and gave the best bow he could.

"Sam," she said. "Sam Singer, is it?"

Sam nodded, swallowing to try and bring moisture to his mouth. "Yes, Your Majesty." He looked up and found that she did not seem angry or frightened. She was, in fact, serene. He figured he might as well apologize, since it might be the last thing he ever did. "Ma'am, I am very sorry I disturbed you that night. I had thought my brother was here, and I have since learned he is not. If you will let me go, I promise to not darken your door ever again."

It probably would have been a great speech, had he not devolved into a coughing fit at the end of it. Anna sighed and motioned for the guards to help Sam back into bed and she tucked him back under the covers with her own hands.

"Sam, don't worry. I'm going to get you better, and then help you on your way. I'm very sorry, but the young man who has come here to see my husband and me is my younger brother, Samandriel. He had gone to war three years ago and we thought him dead in battle. His arrival was indeed shrouded in mystery and has not been widely heralded because we had to confirm his identity." She reached out and stroked Sam's face kindly. "Knowing how it feels to have a brother snatched from you, not knowing if he is dead or alive…I can think of few things that are worse than that. I do wish with all my heart that your brother was here."

Sam smiled sadly. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

}O{

Dean had been working hard for a week to enclose Castiel's wonderful little carriage and make it warmer and cozier than before. While Dean worked, hammering, melting, and fitting iron, Castiel went about his usual business of bringing winter to the world. They were still many weeks away from the solstice, but in Castiel's part of the world, snow had been raining down for longer than a month already, and in the lower regions, it was time to start spreading frost.

When Castiel was younger, he had disliked snow and frost. He had been more of a summer child, running through hill and dale with his cousins, growing brown and strong, learning to fish and swim. Winter was confining and cold, and his time was spent in his father's castle where he was forced to spend his days in the schoolroom, poring over boring equations and histories. He had asked his uncle, Zachariah, the old King Frost, what good winter was if everything died and froze under sheets of ice. Frost brought famine and death. What was the good of it?

His uncle had at first been upset at his impertinence. "The good of Frost, indeed!" Zachariah had exclaimed, his face growing red in his ire, and there was so very much of his face thanks to his shiny bald head. Castiel, a mere ten winters at the time, had been cowed. But Zachariah had calmed down shortly afterwards and started looking at his nephew in a different light after that. One day, he sat Castiel down and explained to him how some animals and plants must lay down and rest during the short winter days, and that in order for life to happen, some sort of death must also come, which was why winter was always followed by spring. "You may not like it, Castiel, but what happens during the winter prepares us for the rest of the year, just as your schooling will prepare you for the rest of your life."

Now that Castiel was older, he understood it all better. Winter was still not his favorite time of year (oh, how ironic that he inherited the title of King Frost, though it was possible his uncle used the title as some sort of punishment for an unknown wrong on Castiel's side), but he appreciated it better now, and bringing the bite of frost was no longer unappealing to him. He knew now that those who died would help replenish the earth, and that without him, many crops would not grow after a long winter rest.

"Ding-dong-ding!" a voice sing-songed from his mirror, pulling him from his thoughts. He recognized that voice. "Cassie, darling, are you decent?"

Castiel stood from his spot by the fire and found his cousin Balthazar, the North Wind, smiling handsomely at him. "Bal!"

"Ah, I knew you'd be around somewhere. Look, I was just blowing over a forest in Kiev when I saw a dear little thing all huddled in the snow and crying, hardly a stitch on her. I thought it might be your sort of thing."

Castiel frowned. This was one part of his job he didn't like. Every now and then, someone would take one of their children out and leave them "for Father Frost" in the woods as a sort of sacrifice. Castiel wasn't sure which of his ancestors started the practice, or if the humans started it and those in his line were simply obligated to obey it, but one of the rules of being a fairy tale creature was that when there was a tradition involving you, you were forced to obey it. Even if you found the practice barbaric.

"Thanks, Balthazar. I'll go and take care of her. Kiev?"

"Kiev," his cousin confirmed. "Good luck!"

Castiel passed his hand over his mirror and searched for the child. Looking for a human from the air was difficult, but if he could find some landmarks around her, such as fallen trees or a river, he could find her more easily once he was out flying.

He located her in his mirror, made some notes and went to find Dean. He figured his prisoner might want to see what he did day to day, and Dean had been working so hard lately, he really did deserve a break.

Dean was in the carriage house, using a deserted berth as his workshop, attaching the frame to Castiel's carriage. He had made it domed so that once he and Gabriel stretched canvas over it, it would resemble a pumpkin. It was a sort of joke between himself a Gabriel. When Castiel entered the room, he stopped short and stared at the contraption.

"It's round," he said flatly.

Dean smirked. "What, you've never heard of a pumpkin carriage?"

Castiel frowned. "I'm not a fairy godmother," he groused. "That's Aunt Naomi's domain."

Dean just laughed. "After we get it covered, you'll love it," he promised.

"Well, whatever you're planning on doing to it at the moment is going to have to wait, I must go to Ukraine right now. Would you like to come?"

Dean gave him one of those beautiful, white smiles that seemed to melt Castiel's very core. "I'd love to!"

Castiel found himself smiling back, and he almost sort of thought that in a strange sort of detached way, this outing might constitute as a date. He watched as Dean picked up his tools and put them away, then cleaned off the seat of the carriage. Castiel sat himself inside, smiling when Dean sat down beside him. It reminded him of their trip to the castle a few weeks earlier, only this time Dean was dressed warmly in a long coat and lined, hooded cloak. Castiel handed him gloves to help protect his hands as they flew, and Dean put them on. One more smile at each other, and they were off.

Dean had been nearly blind on the night Castiel brought him to his castle since it had been a starless night, but this was bright daylight, and he was finally able to see the mountain he'd been living on. It seemed beautiful from where he was sitting, lush and heavily wooded, currently covered in snow, but he wasn't getting an impression of loneliness or isolation. He had somewhat assumed that Castiel was living as a nomad in a far-away place without people or beast, and yet he saw houses, farms, lakes, herds of cows, goats, villages, and all other signs of life.

"This is beautiful," Dean murmured, leaning forward to look down over the front of the sleigh.

"You should see it in the summer," Castiel said with a smile. "It's so green, and the children run and play so happily in the sunshine."

Dean smiled, touched by how wistful Castiel sounded. His face was getting cold and he wanted to pull his hood down, but staring at Castiel as the wind whipped through his hair was too entrancing. He sidled closer and leaned against the warm solidity of Castiel's body. He knew that Castiel rarely got cold, only when his power had burnt out, so he wasn't surprised to find heat radiating off of him, even though he was dressed simply in only his robe and waistcoat rather than an actual jacket.

"Are you cold?" Castiel asked, wrapping his arm around Dean.

In answer, Dean nuzzled his cold nose into Castiel's cheek, making him jump a little and laugh. Dean was warmed from the inside at the sound. He was tired of being rebuffed by Castiel at every turn, and the only thing that really kept him trying was the fact that it was obvious Castiel liked him. Dean would often catch him staring at him, a look of longing on his face, clearly attracted. He also never told Dean that he didn't _want_ Dean. It was always that Dean would someday regret wanting Castiel. Dean didn't see how that was possible. He was aware that he was under an enchantment, but he was also aware that Castiel wasn't happy about it. Dean was pretty sure that once the enchantment was broken, he'd not blame Castiel at all. How could he when it seemed that King Frost was as much a victim of the curse as anyone else?

Dean leaned down and continued to snuggle into his king while watching the world pass them by. Tentatively, Dean pressed his cold lips to Castiel's neck to gauge his reaction and was heartened when the other man hummed and tightened the arm around Dean's shoulder. Feeling encouraged, Dean worked his way up Castiel's strong jaw, smiling when Castiel turned his head and met his lips.

"I need to concentrate," Castiel chuckled, setting Dean away from him and turning back to the scenery in front of them.

Dean probably would have let it go, but the loss of Castiel's body heat against him was making him shiver, so he snuggled close once more, this time wrapping his arms around Castiel's waist and getting slightly behind him so that they both could face forward, and the position put his lips at a very good angle and height to kiss Castiel's long, elegant neck at the same time. Castiel made a small noise of protest at first, but then he placed his hand on Dean's knee and held it there until he directed the sleigh down into a wooded area where a small, beautiful girl was currently shivering against a small snow flurry.

Castiel motioned for Dean to stay where he was and approached the poor thing. She was hardly dressed well for the summer let alone the late autumn and was already soaked through and turning blue.

"Hello, Child," Castiel said in his low, gravelly voice.

The poor girl dipped to a curtsey. "H-hello, sir," she stuttered back, looking around, lost. A thin shawl was all she had to cover her shoulders, which were collecting a good amount of snow since she had clearly given up moving several minutes ago.

"Are you cold?" he asked, aware of his role in this play.

"N-no," she insisted. "I am quite well, thank you, sir."

In response, Castiel called in some wind and snow to fly around them. "Are you sure you're not cold?" he asked again, a little louder.

She shook her head. "No, I assure you, I am fine, but I thank you for asking."

Castiel brought even more wind and snow and reiterated the question for the third and final time. The poor mite nearly fell over from the force of the gale assaulting her, but still insisted that she was perfectly well.

This was always a pleasurable one. He smiled and halted the snow, snapped his fingers, and created a huge bonfire for her.

"For being such a good child, I will reward you," he said, unclasping his robe at the neck and removing it so that he was left only in his waistcoat. "Here, this will keep you warm," he said as he placed the heavy robe, now hot with his body heat, around her shoulders. "Are you hungry?"

Her blue eyes grew wide under her golden brows. "Oh, no, please sir! You have been more than generous!"

Her protest brought a feast fit for a king and steaming hot drinks that were enchanted to stay hot until she finished them.

"Sir, you are too kind. My father has promised to return for me soon, will you not stay to shake his hand?"

Castiel smiled at her and stroked his hand over her golden hair. "You are a very sweet girl, my dear, but I cannot stay. I will leave you with a gift, however." Another snap of his fingers brought a beautiful trunk, filled with fabric and other necessities a lady of the time might need to make herself a trousseau. "I have enchanted this and all the items within that they will always be yours. No one can take them from you forcefully. Continue to be a good girl, Maruska, and good will come to you."

Maruska, for that was indeed her name, gasped and curtsied again, this time much more gracefully since she was warmer. "I know your name as well, for you must be Father Frost!"

Castiel gave a flamboyant bow. "You have named me true, child. Now I will take my leave. And tell your father that the next time he decides to leave one of his daughters out in the wilderness, she may not fare as well as you!"

He went back to his carriage where Dean was watching the proceedings with interest and took off once more, back to his domain in the mountains.

"What was that all about?" Dean asked. "Why was she just out there in the middle of nowhere?"

Castiel let Dean wrap himself around him again, once more placing his hand on Dean's knee where he was turned into him. "Sometimes, parents will drop one of their children out in the middle of nowhere to freeze to death. Sometimes they have too many children, sometimes a jealous stepmother wants to be rid of the burden of her stepdaughter, sometimes they truly think they're making a sacrifice to me. It's my job to test the child and see if he or she is worthy, and if they are, I reward them. If not, they freeze to death."

Dean grew quiet as he mulled this over. "They freeze to death?"

Castiel nodded. "Sometimes. I do not like it, but I am bound to the Old Ways as long as there are those who believe in them."

"I…I understand," Dean said after a moment.

Castiel sighed. "Do you? Because I don't. A lot of the times, I don't. I'm forced to take in people like you who are guilty of no more than looking outside on the first frost of the year and wait for them to be rescued. My uncle, the old king, used to just let those like you freeze to death in his castle. I am bound to keep you until Sam comes to rescue you, Dean. The only reason I am bound to do this is because it was told in a tale at some point long ago, and it became a legend. Now I am forced to continue it until it ends."

Dean stroked his hand over Castiel's chest, landing it on his heart. "When they stop believing, will you die?"

Castiel placed his hand over Dean's. "No, I have a longer lifespan than you, but even if the legend ends within my lifetime, I will still bring snow to the world. When I die, I will pass my title on to someone else."

Dean frowned. "You're going to get married and have kids?"

Castiel's chest tightened. Dean sounded so jealous. "Married, maybe," he said after a moment. "But children would be out of the question. I like only men, Dean."

Dean lifted his head from Castiel's shoulder. "So it's just me that you don't like then."

He sounded so forlorn and lost. "Dean, I like you a great deal. I am, in fact, quite attracted to you."

"But," Dean prodded.

"But," Castiel sighed heavily. "But I don't know how much of your infatuation is the curse, and how much is you. I can't, Dean. I can't be responsible for breaking your trust like that. It's bad enough that you're here."

Dean scowled. "Why won't you just let me—"

"I'm alone, Dean," Castiel snapped. "I'm alone in my castle, forced to bear the burden of being a near-deity. The only people I see aside from my family are folks like you who as soon as they are freed from their curse, would rather never see me again. If I were to love you, it wouldn't matter one whit to you once this is all over. You'll go back to your life, and I'll still be stuck here, alone, like always. So forgive me for not giving into you. I'm sorry you've finally found the one pair of knickers you can't worm your way into. It's not that I don't want to; it's that I _can't_." It came out much harsher than he had planned, and one look at Dean's stricken face made him soften towards the boy. "Look, Dean, I'm sorry, I—"

Dean shook his head and moved away from Castiel. "It's okay. I understand."

"When Sam comes and breaks the curse, you'll be thankful that nothing happened between us."

Dean snuggled back into Castiel. He'd show him. He'd show him that he wanted him of his own volition.

* * *

**In Slavic fairy tales, there's a sort of Two Sisters tale (Aarne-Thompson type 480) where a stepdaughter is left to freeze in the cold, and Father Frost comes and tests her, then gives her gifts. The stepmother, on seeing this marvel, sends her biological daughter to Father Frost. She is rude and Father Frost freezes her to death. I would imagine Castiel would hate this task. **

**As for Sam's part of the story, Gerda originally happened upon a prince and princess who slept in flower cradles covered with gigantic leaves. If you've never read The Snow Queen, it really is a cute story and very fanciful. **


	5. A Robber Girl

**I just wanted to take a second to thank the reviewers and everyone who has favorited and followed this story. I really hope you're enjoying it. I love fairy tales (probably a little obvious right now), and writing this, using the stories I've grown up reading and loving, has been so much fun. There will still be more chapters after this, but it's nearly over. **

* * *

Chapter Four: A Robber Girl

}O{

Once Sam was well enough to walk for more than five paces without practically fainting, Anna allowed him free reign to explore the castle and do as he pleased, which helped keep Sam in a positive frame of mind, and subsequently, his recovery went much faster.

Anna was generous to Sam and had him outfitted with clothes that were much like Dean's, and boots lined with fur to keep him warm. He has a fancy walking cape that fell to his knees and a driving cape that went almost to the ground. He had jackets that were long, short, cutaway, fitted, and one that was just for dinner. There was a man who came to dress him whenever a change of clothing was necessary, as it seemed to be for every meal, and a man to bathe him once a week.

That part was odd. Sam didn't like being bathed. The man was nice enough, and he kept the water warm and massaged Sam's back nicely, but other than that, Sam would rather do without him. Anna was so nice to always try and do everything to make Sam happy, though, so Sam allowed it, and put on the clothes that the one who dressed him told him to put on, and used the forks he was supposed to use and never wiped his mouth on his sleeve any more.

He liked Samandriel, who looked like he was only a few years older than Sam despite the fact that he insisted he was well over thirty years of age. He liked Inias, Anna's consort. There was a large picture in the library of Anna and Inias on their wedding day, and while the date was ten years prior, both Anna and Inias looked the same now as they did in their portrait, and they looked quite young which meant there was enchantment here, and Sam wasn't sure how he felt about that. They were kind to him, though, so he felt they wouldn't hurt him.

No one at the castle was mean or angry to Sam. The guards still brought him sweets and Samandriel brought him books and the maid smiled at him, but still he was eager to be on his way and find Dean. So it was on his third week there that he decided to bring up his leaving with Anna at dinner.

"You are still so weak," she objected, the string of pearls around her neck glowing in the candlelight and setting her pale skin off to perfection. She was so beautiful with long red hair and deep brown eyes. Sam loved looking at her, and he hated leaving her, but he knew he must.

"I cannot leave my brother to the mercy of King Frost," he insisted.

Anna and Inias shared a look. "We know you are worried about Dean," Inias said, "but would he be happy if you risked your health for his? Stay just one more week."

Sam didn't want to, but he decided to bow to their wisdom. As things turned out, they were wise. The week's end saw Sam back to perfect health, and he felt stronger than ever.

Though they had already given him many gifts, Anna and Inias sent Sam off with a small sleigh and a pony to pull it, food in a hamper, and all the clothes he had amassed while with them. He felt as rich as a Tsar as he set off from the palace in the direction of King Frost's palace, and so warm in his coat and robe with a pretty embroidered rug over his lap that he hardly felt the bite of winter as it descended upon him. His thoughts turned to Dean after he waved gratefully to his patrons, and promised that he and Dean would come by to visit on their way home. Then he turned his pony to the north, towards Dean and King Frost's tower.

The first two days were wonderful. Sam found he loved his pony, and they kept each other warm at night by making a shelter in the sleigh, Sam leaning against the beast, both of them covered with blankets and cloaks. On the third day, they were ambushed. Sam was too naïve to know what was happening and ended up stopping to help a person he thought was in trouble. It turned out to be a band of thieves living in the forest, lying in wait for someone like him to come along with more compassion than sense. Sam couldn't help but think, as he was being hauled out of his sleigh by strong, brutish men, that Dean would have been too wary to have fallen victim to, in retrospect, such an obvious ploy.

He was forced to lay down over the rear of a horse and tied down, then hauled for many hours and many miles to an encampment. Along the way, his kidnappers ate all his provisions, which had been enough for several weeks, and had divided his lovely clothes among themselves. Sam was lucky that he was able to keep the clothes he was wearing, though they took his cloak, and he began to shiver. When he arrived at the encampment and was cut loose, he fell to the ground in an ungainly heap of long limbs.

"What's going on here?" a feminine voice demanded.

Sam looked up to see one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever looked at approaching him. Her hair was black and curly, loose around her shoulders, her skin warm and tanned, and her eyes were nearly black, huge, and framed by thick black lashes. Sam was from a land of blonds, his hair was some of the darkest in the village of Kiminski, so seeing this dark-haired beauty was new and different. He couldn't pull his eyes from her.

"Never your mind, Princess," one of the gruff men grunted.

"You overestimate your worth, dog," the princess tossed out haughtily. "I demand to know what this boy is doing here. You know we take no prisoners!"

"Aye, well, this one seemed small enough to make no matter, and your father's been asking for a nice boy to bend over," the man taunted, his face contorted with loathing.

The princess, however, was undaunted by his rough speak. "A boy?" she asked with raised eyebrow. "That's not what I understood from hearing him with your wife last night."

Sam flushed at the blatant innuendo, shocked that such a beautiful and young girl could say something so crass. The other men took great delight in her jibe, however, and laughed heartily, making the first man bluster and move to harm the girl.

"Don't!" Sam exclaimed, throwing himself between the princess and the thief. "You don't hit women."

The man pulled back his fist, and then Sam's world exploded into pain and darkness.

When he awoke, he was laying unbound on a makeshift bed of cushions and carpets. The right side of his face was on fire, and he was having trouble opening that eye.

"Oh, you're awake." It was the princess from earlier. "Here, I brought you some snow to put on your face. Igor got you pretty good."

Sam gingerly sat up and accepted a damp cloth from her, placing it over his eye. The icy snow felt wonderful against his fevered and swollen skin. "What's your name?"

"Ruby. What's yours?"

"Sam. Are you really a princess?"

Ruby shrugged and cast off her dark red cloak. Her young body was clothed in a mishmash of styles and textures. She wore the laced-up bodice of the Dutch and the full, short skirt of the Russians. The former was made of velvet, the latter of patchwork silk and embroidery. Underneath it all, poking out from under the skirt and over the bodice was a flaxen chemise of the Netherlanders.

"You could say I am a princess," she decided. "Though they only call me that to mock me. My father says he is the king of this hell, so I suppose I must be a princess. Are you a prince? Your clothes are finer than any I've ever seen and your carriage is gilded with real gold. I was able to salvage it and your pony, but the ornaments have been removed and taken by my father's men. When he realizes what they have done, all that they have stolen from you, he will find his way to taking half of it back for himself. I'm afraid that all you have left are the clothes on your back."

Sam nodded. He'd made do with far less. At least they'd let him keep his new wool coat and fur-lined boots. "Are you really going to keep me for a slave?"

Ruby shrugged again. "My father wouldn't mind a slave, it's true, but not for what they said. An innocent boy such as you would never suit his needs."

Sam found the frank appraisal of his suitability as a toy for a nomadic king to be just a bit overwhelming. "So what's going to happen to me?"

"I'll tell him that I want to keep you. Maybe he'll let me. I've never had my own toy," she said with dead seriousness. "It might be fun."

Sam felt himself go hot all over, from fear, from intrigue. Parts of his body that he'd never had much use for suddenly began to take an interest in the situation. He wanted to disengage, to remove himself from this girl.

"No, I-I-…I don't think that'd be very good," he said, backing away.

"If you don't become my slave, one of my father's men will take you for himself. I assure you that I shall be much kinder to you than any of them. If you are with me, then you will be under my protection. None of them can hurt you."

"Yes, as evidenced by the great amount of respect they showed you earlier," he shot back. "I cannot stay and be your slave! I am looking for my brother. I need to go."

Ruby was impassive. "It seems you have little choice," was all she said.

"Ruby!"

Ruby looked at the entrance to her little cave where a man was currently stalking towards them. He was dark like Ruby, and Sam assumed that this was her father.

"Hello, Father."

"What's he doing in here?" the man demanded, stabbing his finger in Sam's direction. "I didn't give you this_ grand palace _so you could entertain male visitors."

Ruby huffed. "Oh, Daddy. I didn't know you cared."

"I don't," he growled. "Your virtue is practically worthless in these parts, but I don't want a bunch of little _yous_ running about, taking up more of my precious resources."

"Don't worry, Father, I have little interest in being bred by anybody, and if it's resources you're concerned with, your men have taken all of this boy's fine possessions for themselves and not left anything for you. I only seized upon the last point of value in their haul. He might be useful to have around."

Ruby was seized by her hair, her head tipped back roughly by her father's hand as he glared down into her face. "You are a whore like your mother. Don't think you've fooled me, you little brat. You want to breed with him? Fine, but you will take care of him. You will bring in food for him, clothes, and other goods."

Tears welled in Ruby's eyes, but she held her ground, staring unblinking back at her father, her face defiant. "I _already_ bring in everything I currently own, Father. You haven't given me a scrap since I was eight summers, and even _then_ you hardly gave me anything. You think I can't care for myself? For my new slave?"

She was roughly released, crumpling to the ground as her father pushed her away from him. "You keep telling yourself that, darling. See how far it gets you."

Ruby glared at his retreating back, wiping hot, angry tears from her cheeks. "You want to leave?" she whispered harshly. "Then let's leave. Tonight."

Sam wasn't sure about any of this, but he knew he couldn't stay here with the group of thieves, so he nodded dumbly.

"I'll take your horse and sleigh," Ruby continued, packing up a few things here and there around her little cave. "I have a horse you can ride yourself, if you're any good in the saddle."

Sam nodded. "I can ride well."

"Good," Ruby said, filling a little sack with dried meat and fruit. "I'll take you to where the mountains start, but you'll have to go your way from there."

Sam suddenly found himself concerned about this girl. She was helping him, and he thought it only right to help her back. "Where will you go?"

Ruby smiled. "I can go anywhere I like," she said, a little excited. "I can do anything I want to do…" She looked around her cave. "My father thinks he is the king, but his men show him no respect, his women call him names behind his back. We shall see how well he fares without me keeping everyone in line. It is likely he'll come looking for me."

"I swear I won't tell him anything if I see him again."

Ruby laughed. "You'll never see him again, not if you're lucky." She layered on a sweater and a coat, then draped both herself and Sam in cloaks. "It's not your pretty velvet one, but it'll have to do," she mocked.

"It's fine," Sam insisted. "I'm just the son of a blacksmith. I'm not a prince or anything special."

"I guess that makes two of us now," Ruby said. "I can't be a princess anymore if the king is no longer my father."

Sam regarded her for a long time. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Ruby nodded. "You saw him, you heard him. If I'm going to be forced to earn everything I have, then I'm going to do it on my own terms, in my own way."

"All right, then let's go."

Dean didn't trust this Ruby chick. He narrowed his eyes at Castiel's mirror and glared at the girl, wishing her miles away from his brother.

"Dean, I have to go," Castiel said.

Dean turned away from Sam, raising his eyebrows. "You have to go? Take me with you."

Castiel shook his head. "I can't. I have to go alone. This is the way it is. The way it has to be."

Dean felt his heart constrict. "No, Cas, don't! You know I want to stay here!"

Castiel put his hand on Dean's cheek. "You won't," he said with that same sad certainty he'd always used when he talked about Sam breaking the curse. "Sam will be here soon, and I have winter to bring to the world. You'll be fine here. When Sam comes…you'll forget me."

Dean shook his head and grabbed Castiel's arms, pulling him close and kissing him. Castiel was resistant at first, like always, but then he sighed into the kiss, let Dean tug him into his arms, lead him upstairs to that huge, lonely bedroom where he'd spent far too many nights staring up at the canopy all by himself, wishing someone was there. He knew that now he'd have the memory of Dean's embrace, his mouth, his naked skin, those fingers probing, opening him gently, his groan when he finally sank inside, the feeling of fullness. It would torture him for the rest of his days, but he was done fighting Dean, fighting his attraction.

Castiel had simply decided that if he had to be alone, he'd rather be alone with his memories. His arms would ache for Dean's embrace, his body would crave him, but he'd have the memory. He just hoped it wouldn't make him bitter. He didn't try to stop the tears tracking down his cheeks when he came.

Two hours later, when Dean awoke, it was to a dark room and an empty bed.

"Cas, you coward," he grumbled. He dressed slowly, scowling at everything in the room that made him think of Castiel. Over the chaise was Castiel's dark blue robe, the one with the gems embroidered on it to make it look like stars in the night's sky. On impulse, he put it on over his jacket, just so he could smell the soap Castiel used to shave with. It was stupid and sentimental, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was never going to see Castiel again.

Dean made his way downstairs, stopping by the mirror in the throne room where he could see Sam and Ruby making their way to the mountains. Snow was falling, masking their tracks. Ruby's father was lost trying to pick up their scent. Fortune was on their side, Sam would soon find his way to Castiel's castle. Dean had seen the mountain from the air; he knew there was a clear path to where he was. He wanted to see Sam again, but his heart ached for Castiel, damn him.

Dean was so upset, he almost didn't see the note Castiel had left for him. He very nearly threw it into the fire when he saw it, but something made him pause and put it in his pocket. It would be months before he was calm enough to actually read it. Until that time, he put it in his pocket where it burned at him, heavy with what it might contain. Dean did his best to ignore it and watched Sam's progress. He bid the girl goodbye, which Dean was thankful for, and made his way up the path to the castle.

}O{

Sam and Ruby made their escape in the evening, but not too late. Ruby said it would be easier to explain their escape if they were caught earlier in the day rather than in the dead of night. She reasoned that if they were found earlier in the evening, they could say that they were just out for a ride, testing out Sam's sleigh. It turned out that she was right, hardly anyone batted an eye as they left, and only one person said anything, and that was only to tell Ruby to check the traps in the woods.

Ruby actually did check the traps. She took a little too much glee in finishing off the few small animals that had been captured, but Sam ignored her spirited killing and cleaned the two hares and three squirrels they caught, splitting them up between his provision bag and hers. Ruby seemed a little upset at first that he would be taking one rabbit and one and a half squirrels, so he decided to give her the entire third squirrel. He figured he could always get another squirrel if he needed one. Ruby barely nodded at that, but seemed happy nonetheless.

It took them two days to reach the foot of the mountain, and while there were no signs proclaiming, "This Way To The Frost King," it seemed that all the inhabitants of this part of the world knew where his domain lay.

"You can see him ride by sometimes," Ruby said as though seeing a flying carriage not pulled by anything were an everyday occurrence.

She had stories about the strange king. He rewarded abandoned children in the woods with clothes fine enough to fund a dowry for a good marriage, but sometimes he turned them into icicles. He would come down and spread the snow, and the wind would carry it through the land. Ruby seemed to like the idea of King Frost, but then, she was an odd girl to Sam and seemed to revel in destruction.

"I wish he'd come and give me gifts," Ruby said at one point. "No one ever gives me gifts. I have to take everything."

"I could do without gifts from Father Frost," Sam said strongly. "He took my brother! God only knows what he's doing to him."

Ruby had laughed and waggled her eyebrows at Sam.

When they parted ways, Ruby gave Sam a strong hug. "Well, Sam, if you see Father Frost, tell him about me. Tell him I'll gladly stay with him forever."

Sam shook his head at her. "You know you'd never be happy taking orders from some king."

Ruby shrugged. "True. Well, good luck anyway. Maybe we'll see each other again."

"Thank you for all your help."

"You were doing pretty well without me," Ruby said, then turned the pony. "Thanks for your sleigh!"

Sam shook his head at her and turned his horse up the hill. It was time to go rescue his brother.

* * *

**In HCA's original story, I always found Gerda's encounter with the little robber girl to be sexually charged. Maybe I'm twisted, or maybe HCA was, or it's both of us, but whatever. I had to make her Ruby because she's less unhinged than Lilith, and yet still pretty insane. **


	6. Homeward Bound

**We're almost at the end now. BTW, I decided to name the village Dean and Sam are from "Kiminski." It's Danny Kaye's actual last name, and while it's not Danish, it's still a freaking awesome name. I have huge love for Danny Kaye, so I guess it's my homage to him playing Hans Christian Andersen all those years ago and contributing to my childhood a bit. I took my mom to Solvang a few years ago, which is a Danish village a few hours from where I live in California, and when we saw there was a bust of HCA in the park, I was disappointed that he didn't look anything like Danny Kaye. **

* * *

Chapter Five: Homeward Bound

The climb up the mountain was easier said than done. It was hard, slippery, cold, and long, but after three days of trekking and one pretty terrible fall, Sam managed to make it to the top, leading his horse since riding had become impossible due to the steepness of the mountain.

At the top, Sam looked around to get his bearings. The palace loomed large and icy blue ahead of him, standing taller than the trees in his way. It took him until the late evening to reach it, and were it not for the large, full moon riding high in the sky and reflecting brightly off the snow, he would have had to camp for the night. As it was, he reached the doors just before midnight and pushed them open, surprised that they weren't locked.

He wandered around until he found the throne room. Dean was cuddled under a blanket by the fire, which was dying slowly.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, running to his brother, his footfalls echoing through the long, cavernous room.

Dean stirred, looking around bewildered. "Sammy?"

Sam threw himself into Dean's arms, carelessly sprawling in his lap. He was too happy to see his brother to care how it might look, and he held on tightly, tears slipping down from his eyes and down his cheeks. He pressed his wet cheek to Dean's, and the hot, salty tears melted away Frost's kiss that had lingered on Dean's cheek and held him under Castiel's thrall. Dean actually felt the moment that Castiel's spell broke. The fog that had weighed him down these many weeks finally lifted, dissipating completely, leaving in its wake an ache for Castiel that no enchantment could have created.

The letter rustled against his chest in his pocket, reminding him of Castiel's final words. He would read it, but not yet. He was still too angry at Castiel for leaving him. Besides, he had Sam back. Sam was in his arms, holding him as close as a brother. Sam loved him, and so did Bobby.

"I missed you, Sammy," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I'm so sorry I left you."

Sam pulled back and laughed. "Jeez, I'm on your lap."

Dean laughed too. "You're such a girl, Sam." But he said it fondly and with a smile. If Castiel could just leave him, after all they shared, then he could leave too.

"We should get out of here," Sam said, standing and looking around anxiously. "King Frost…"

"He's not coming back," Dean told him. "Not for a while. Rest up. I think there's food in the kitchen."

They both made their way down to the basement kitchen and Dean built up the fire while Sam filled the kettle and started setting out enough food for a king.

"We should take it all with us," Sam decided. "After what King Frost did to you, he owes you."

Dean was too hurt by Castiel to set Sam straight, but he still cared for him too much to agree, so he remained silent. Besides, he was sure that Castiel would not have objected to Dean taking food. In fact, he seemed intent on giving Dean everything he could, just like he had with the young girl in the woods.

"Was it really bad?" Sam asked between bites. "Did he…hurt you?"

Dean shook his head. "No, he hardly touched me." Not until Dean practically forced himself on him. A wave of guilt washed over Dean when he thought about Castiel. No wonder he had left. Dean had…well, it wasn't rape because Castiel was right there with him, but he remembered how reluctant Castiel had been the entire time Dean had been there. Then there was his impassioned speech about how he was so lonely, and would be lonelier still if Dean loved him and left him…

Dean gulped. He had promised himself he would be there for Castiel, stay with him always. And now he was going to leave him.

"I can't believe he's not here," Sam murmured around a mouthful.

Dean found his appetite was gone. "I'm, um…gonna go get ready to leave. I have clothes and things to bring with me."

Sam nodded enthusiastically. "Bring that robe you're wearing, too. I bet those jewels will fetch a pretty penny for us. He owes you, Dean."

Dean gulped down the lump in his throat. He owed Cas, plain and simple. He owed him so much.

The letter moved against his breast, and he found himself nodding at Sam. "Yeah, I'll bring the robe." It smelled like Cas.

}O{

They were gone by morning, on their way back down the mountain. Dean had packed the horse up with some of the choice things that would remind him of Castiel's palace along with three big, fluffy pillows for himself, Sam and Bobby. They didn't have luxury like feather beds and pillows in his little village. All of the clothes he had worn were brought too, as well as the robe he had stolen from Castiel's bedroom. He refused to bring anything else, though. Even when Sam wanted to bring silver or gold, he just shook his head. It seemed wrong to do that to Cas, somehow. They did take all the food, however, and Dean found a long robe for Sam, and then they were on their way.

Going down the mountain for Sam was easier than going up. They slipped a bit, as did the horse, but it was all in the direction they wanted to go in, so Dean counted it as a good thing, even when his ankle felt like it would snap in two from him twisting it so much.

They spent two nights on the mountain. Dean created a lean-to out of one of the thick blankets Castiel would use to wrap himself in and Sam created a nice fire. They slept back-to-back under a heap of warm blankets on top of a huge fur pelt Sam had taken from Ruby's lair. After more than a month of sleeping on feathered ticks, sleeping on the cold, hard ground was a rude awakening for Dean. He wasn't sure when he had gotten soft, but he was determined to harden up again.

They were back at Anna's castle after a week. She welcomed Sam with a smile and open arms, and Inias was happy to see Sam as well. They threw a huge party for the brothers which meant even more clothes for them to bring with them. Dean joked that they were going to need a wardrobe at home to hang up all their clothes. Sam just scoffed and said that he'd sell everything and use the money to attend the university.

They ended up having an argument because of this. Dean had no idea that Sam had ever wanted to attend the university. He assumed he and Sam would always be together in some way, but it turned out that Sam wished to attend law school. What was worse was that when Anna found out, she had a letter of recommendation written for Sam immediately and several books were added to their already growing cache of items. Dean found himself begrudging Sam the idea of going to university. Somehow, he felt that since he was forced to be giving up Castiel, Sam should be forced to give up something too. Instead, it seemed that Sam would be getting all of his dreams in one sweep.

Dean tried his hardest to distract himself from all these changes that would be happening in his life, but nothing seemed to hold his attention. The maids were lovely, but they weren't Castiel. Samandriel was for about five minutes a good substitute, but when he tried to turn on his usual charm, it just didn't seem to come to him. Besides, it was hard to turn to someone as adorable and innocent as Samandriel when Dean had already tasted Castiel's sweetness.

"You ruined me, Cas," he said out loud on the night of the party, alone in his room. He looked in his mirror, wondering if Castiel was watching him. He hoped he was. He hoped Castiel saw how handsome he looked in the bright green velvet jacket Anna had commissioned for him. His eyes reflected the color, and he remembered that Castiel directed that most of his clothes should be green.

The letter stayed in his pocket, always with him, for when he was ready to read it. He didn't know when the moment might strike him. He had taken to holding it in his hand and tracing his name in Castiel's handwriting. It was nice, concise writing with just the smallest hint of flourish on the "N".

}o{

Anna and Inias were sad to see the brothers leave them. Dean had assumed they would be happy to see their backs, but Sam explained one night that Samandriel had been presumed dead, and because of his story, Anna had taken a shine to Sam's story. Dean decided to not tell Sam that Anna was Castiel's cousin. He figured she was just being nice to him because Castiel asked her to.

The letter pressed against his chest when he thought about Castiel watching him at Anna's, maybe even asking her questions about him. Did Castiel care? Did he ask her to be so nice to them? Were all the gifts she was handing him really from Castiel by proxy?

It was too much to think about, and probably the answers were in the letter, and still he couldn't find his way to opening it. He was still too angry, too hurt.

They were sent home in a carriage with guards riding around them on all sides to keep them protected. They kept to the main roads and slept in public houses and hotels on the way home, which was brand new to Dean. In the village of Kiminski, the only people to sleep at the pub were those visiting the prostitute. Since Dean had no need of her services, he never slept there. Sleeping in the ones on the road didn't really make him regret that decision. The beds were nice and clean, and the food was pretty good, but the noise of people coming in and going out all night was distracting, and there was a strange pervasive smell of burnt stew all throughout the places.

They arrived at their little village of Kiminski after five days of travel, and the carriage went directly to the blacksmith. Bobby came out to meet them, no doubt believing that important people needed him to help with a thrown shoe or broken axel. Dean's heart lurched in his chest at the sight of Bobby's drawn, tired face. He was obviously down a good twenty pounds and dark circles were under his eyes. His usually trimmed beard was bushy and messy, and his clothes were rumpled and stained. All of the good feeling Dean and Sam had been building up with their gifts and their adventure deflated at the sight of all that Bobby had lost in their absence.

Sam didn't wait for the footman; he opened the carriage door and stepped down light and quick, taking his father by the shoulders.

"Sir," Bobby said, nodding and bowing. "How can I help you?"

Tears formed in Sam's eyes. Bobby wouldn't even look at him. "Papa," he said, his voice breathy with disbelief. "Papa, what happened?"

Bobby looked up sharply, eyes narrowing as he took in Sam's familiar face, clean and clear, smiling happily, dressed finer than a king. "Sam?"

Dean pushed his brother out of the way as he exited the carriage. He had given Sam and Bobby as much alone time as he could stand, but homesickness was finally catching up to him all at once, and he found himself hungry for Bobby's strong embrace. "Bobby," he said as he clambered down. "Bobby, it's us."

A tear fell from Bobby's eye, the first Dean had ever seen. "Dean?" he asked, still incredulous. "My boys…" and then he finally seemed to accept that it was them because a huge smile broke out over his face. "My boys!" he crowed, pulling them both down to him in a huge, fatherly hug. "Thank the lord, my boys are home."

Dean and Sam both warmed in his embrace, hugging him back, the three of them standing in the middle of the road, hugging, crying, and talking over each other so that nothing was heard.

Anna's servants were busy while the reunion was happening. They unloaded the many trunks that Anna had sent, kindly carrying everything to the front of the little cottage, and by the time the trio was calm enough to say goodbye, everything was unloaded and the coachmen and guards were ready to be on their way.

"Can I offer you anything?" Bobby asked, hoping they'd say yes. "Reshoe the horses, anything?"

The coachman handed Bobby a thick letter that reminded Dean of his own thick letter, still resting unopened against his heart. "This is from my queen," the coachman said. "All I request from you is that you read it and live a long and happy life. The three of you are welcome at Queen Anna's palace at any time, and it would be my pleasure to look upon you all again."

With that, they were gone, and Bobby closed his shop so that he could bring his boys inside the house and fuss over them like an old hen. His first order of business was to brew tea and heat up stew while Sam and Dean began to unload the giant trunks, finding useful things like bolts of cloth, cloaks, carpets and tapestries, but also strange sundries like ink, quills, brooches, a box of the rolls that Dean had taken a liking to and a tin of tea that Sam had similarly become addicted to. Marzipans shaped like fruit, actual fruit, tea cakes and other candied delicacies took up a good portion of one trunk, and books the rest of it. Sam's letter of recommendation to any university he might wish to study law at was a part of these books.

Bobby was amazed by each new thing that came out of the trunks. Finally, he stroked his hand over a bit of brocade and whistled. "You idjits had better not be spoiled. I ain't got time for spoiled little boys." His words were gruff, but his eyes were soft. "You'd both better start at the beginning and tell me everything," he said at last.

They started at the beginning, and by the end of the night and the rolls, the pot of stew, and a good portion of the tea, they reached the end of it. Dean didn't leave anything out, and both Sam and Bobby had a lot to say on the subject of Castiel.

"I think you need to read his letter," was Bobby's opinion.

"I think he should toss it in the fire," was Sam's. "He was under an enchantment, everything he felt was colored by that."

"Please," Bobby scoffed. "You can't manufacture that sort of emotion, Sam. And if Castiel kept pushing him away…"

Dean stood. "I have to make the decision by myself," he reminded them. "I'm going to read it. I just don't know when."

Sam made a noise of derision, but Bobby slapped the back of his head. "Have some respect, Sam. Dean knows his own heart."

Sam looked down, slightly ashamed of himself. If Dean was really in love with Castiel, then he would be leaving them forever. Sam, of course, did not think about how Dean might feel about him going off to university to be a lawyer. In Sam's mind, he could do that and still be a part of the family, but to Dean, Sam going away to university would mean that he would leave them forever for the wonders of a large city.

Their first days back in Kiminski were spent making calls on their neighbors, fattening Bobby back up, and cleaning the house. It seemed that Bobby had become a bit of a slob in their absence, and the brothers were in slight awe at the amount of garbage Bobby felt comfortable living around. Eventually, however, they integrated themselves back into their society, Sam went back to school and Dean to the blacksmith shop, the little cottage went back to being neat and snug, and Bobby's beard went back to being trimmed even as his belly grew and his smile returned to his face.

The villagers started to look at Sam and Dean strangely after their adventures, and it wasn't just because they were now dressed so well. Their faces started to hold secrets that those of Kiminski couldn't understand if they didn't venture outside the safe walls of the village. Because of this, the brothers were now considered oddities in an unapproachable way. Those that had always known them were still familiar and kind to them, but those that didn't now gave them a wide berth. The boys at school that had once picked on Sam and singled him out now stared at him in awe, afraid that offending him might bring about some supernatural wrath. Sam found the new deference to be even more isolating than their former hostility, but he said nothing of it to either Bobby or Dean because there was really nothing to be done about it. The more he thought about it, the more Sam started to think that he didn't really belong in this place, and the thought frightened him.

}O{

It took Dean two months to read Castiel's letter. For the first month, he carried it with him wherever he went in his breast pocket. He would take it out now and then and look at it, trace his name, think about Castiel, wonder what he thought as he wrote it. He would stare at the crest in the wax seal, run his fingers over the indentations until it was nearly flat, and just think over everything he had been through, and how reading the letter might change everything.

Finally, though, he took a knife, cut the seal, and sat down by the candle to read.

_My Dear Dean,_

_Knowing you, it is many months since we have last seen each other. I do not know what you think of me after how we left things, or rather, how I left you. I need you to know that leaving you that day was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I know you do not understand why I had to go, but Sam needed a chance to win your heart back. I am positive that he did. I am sure that you desire no rehash of what passed between the two of us, but I must confess that I have no regrets—but no, that is not quite accurate—I have but one, and that is that you were under enchantment when we lay together. I will cherish our moments for my life, but there will always be a taint of magic overshadowing it. Knowing that you did not truly, fully give yourself to me is a true regret. But again, I promised to not dwell upon a memory that, for you, must be painful. You must forgive me for holding it so dear._

_My true purpose for writing is not to recount our clandestine moments, but to tell you about your father. Dean, your father is under a curse and has been for these last fourteen years, indeed since the death of your excellent mother. He has searched the world in vain for the one who killed your dear mother, not knowing that all the while he was laboring for the very person who ended her life._

_Lord Alastair comes from the Southern Kingdoms, under King Lucifer. Alastair is of no relation to me, and while Lucifer is a cousin (one of Gabriel's brothers, to be more precise), I hold no influence over him or his lands. Indeed, I am nearly powerless in the South, where Winter and Frost rarely visit. I will help where I can, but if you choose to free him from his enchantment, you will need all of your cunning and skill. I beg of you, Dean, be careful. If not for my sake, then for that of Sam, Bobby, and your father. I have every faith in you to stay alive. I know you can._

_If it ever pleases you to remember me, I will be_

_Affectionately Yours,_

_Castiel, King Frost_

Dean wasn't sure how he felt when he first read the letter. There were so many parts to it, so many things to assault him at once, such as Castiel's belief that Dean would regret any part of their coupling, or that he would remember it as anything other than wonderful. That was overshadowed by the idea that his father might still be alive, the hope that flared within him at that pronouncement. Then there was the thought of traveling to the South, where snow and frost held little footing. Even when he was with his father, they never ventured too far south.

Of course, it took him a while to broach the subject with Bobby and Sam, and of course they were both torn between wanting Dean to reunite with his father, and wanting him safe. In the end, both resolved that if Dean were to go, then they would go as well.

Dean was, of course, against this course of action.

"No way," he said when they brought it up over dinner. "No, my dad's already in trouble, I'm not gonna put you two in danger too."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And yet we're just supposed to let you go off on your own?"

"Yes," Dean said, crossing his arm and mimicking Sam's eyebrow raise.

"Bull," was Bobby's answer. "Come on, Dean, you'll need us. You said that both Gabriel and Castiel said that Sam is a natural at questing, and I ain't just a pretty face myself. We can help you. If Castiel's magic can't work that far away, you'll really need us."

"And _we_ need you," Sam continued stubbornly. "You're a part of our family now, Dean. You're my brother, in more than just spirit."

Dean glared at them both. This was singularly unfair. "Okay, fine, you can come, but…don't get killed."

Bobby's lips twisted into a smile beneath his beard. "We'll try our hardest not to," he quipped.


	7. To the Rescue

**The last chapter ended where Hans Christian Andersen ended his story. But we're moving on into the next phase of this story, because it's not done yet. HCA had Gerda and Kay flee the Snow Queen and live happily ever after, but there's a long way for Dean to go before he sleeps. **

* * *

Chapter Six: To the Rescue

Preparations for the trip south started out much differently than Sam's initial trip to the north all those months ago. For one thing, they could actually afford provisions, bed rolls, and horses. Since Anna had sent them home with bolts of fine fabric, Bobby now had fine new suits as well as Dean and Sam, and of course Sam had stolen some of Castiel's finest robes to help keep them warm on the roads.

They left in the morning when the frost was still clinging to the ground. Dean leaned down and scooped up a handful from one of the bushes outside the door, thinking of Castiel and his cold, lonely castle. It was just like the frost, a coating over a shrub, but still full of life and thriving on the inside. Dean decided that after he had his dad back, he was going to go back to the north, find Castiel, and make him talk to him. They could work it out. They could work everything out.

Finding King Lucifer's lands was a simple matter, but it took several weeks to reach him. Bobby was not used to sleeping in hotels, so Dean made a few lean-to's on the road a few nights, though one night they nearly were robbed, which made Bobby appreciate the hotels a little more.

Once they crossed into Lucifer's territory, they began to question how to begin their search for Dean's father. It was clear they were looking for a lord called Alastair, but beyond that, Dean didn't have many clues. Still, they asked around and found Alistair's lands and took up a small house in the town.

Sam was unpacking in his room when he found Evergreen's feather and remembered how the great hawk had helped him out when he was looking for Dean. He ran the feather over his fingers and tickled his chin with it, thinking about how everything had happened.

And then there was a strange pecking at the window and he found the very being he had just thought of sitting there, looking at him.

"Evergreen!" He unlatched the window and stood back so the hawk could hop inside. His exclamation brought both Dean and Bobby from the other rooms, and they stared at the bird in awe. "Bobby, Dean, this is Evergreen, who I told you about."

Bobby and Dean glanced at each other, then gave slight bows to the bird.

"Thank you for the help you gave my boy," Bobby said.

"Yeah," Dean echoed. "You really helped Sammy out."

Evergreen inclined his head ever so slightly. "Sam was thinking of me. He is turning in his favor now. What assistance can I offer?"

Sam's eyes widened, and he realized what he had done. "Evergreen, King Frost told Dean that some years ago, Dean's father was made a slave by the lord of these lands. Do you know anything about this?"

"How long ago would this have been?"

"Ten years past," Bobby supplied.

"Very well," Evergreen said, "I will go around and see what gossip I can find. These lands are strange to me, so I know as much as you do now."

The great bird did not say goodbye before it flew out the window, leaving the humans inside to gape at the emptiness where it had been.

"Wow," Dean said.

"You said he was big, but…" Bobby's awe was palpable.

Sam laughed. "I told you he flew me on his back!"

"Yeah, but…" Dean shrugged.

They waited for two days for Evergreen to come back to them, and in that time, they were not idle themselves. They soon had amassed a great amount of information about Lord Alistair and his doings, plus they had traded some goods for the currency of the land and paid for the house for the month, bought a few provisions, and tried to formulate a plan.

When Evergreen returned to them, they were feeling restless and useless so they welcomed the hawk happily.

"The one called John Winchester is kept by Alistair as a slave. He has proven difficult to train or keep, so it is said that Alistair put him into an enchanted sleep below his castle."

Dean leaned forward. "So how do we free him from his service? Do you know how much he owes or…whatever?"

"I am sorry, Dean Winchester, but Alistair would not let your father go for money. He keeps John in a cage, but claims that he likes him too well to release him, though he does nothing due to his enchanted sleep."

"There must be a way to release him," Dean said.

Evergreen shook out his feathers. "I am sure that there is. I wish you luck in finding out how. Sam, my debt to you is paid."

Sam nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Evergreen."

Evergreen moved to the window. "Thank you, Sam, for the help you rendered my children. Good luck!"

"Well, he's just a barrel of laughs," Bobby groused when the hawk had gone.

"Hey, he gave us more than Dean's boyfriend," Sam snapped back.

Dean threw his hands into the air. "You know what, Sammy? I've had enough of you talking about Castiel like that! He was good to me! He cared for me. God forbid someone should actually do anything good for me!"

Sam slammed down the book he'd been holding. "What about me? What about my father? Why do you need more family than us? We're your family and we care for you! We are good to you!"

"Yeah, says the guy who's going off to University without a thought to either me or Bobby!"

Bobby held up his hands and got between the two boys. "That's enough, kids. Sam, Dean can love Castiel and have it not separate him from you. Dean, Sam can go to University and still be a part of the family."

"No!" both boys shouted at once, making Bobby wince.

"He must still be possessed by King Frost's spell, that's the only explanation I can find for his behavior!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, 'cause it can't be that I actually liked the guy or anything."

"Papa!" Sam turned to Bobby. "Papa, please! You must see that Dean has to still be bewitched by Castiel! It's the only explanation!"

Bobby sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I think you're projecting just a bit here, son. I have told you time and again that Dean knows his own mind."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying he doesn't know his mind, I'm saying he's under an enchantment! The story says that once you're kissed by the first frost of winter, you're the Frost King's consort. There doesn't say anything about you ever _not_ being his consort." Sam took a deep breath. "Papa, Dean has been bewitched by King Frost and it won't end!"

Dean sat down and cracked open a bottle of ale. "Listen to me, Sammy. I remember what it was like to be under an enchantment. It was like I was trying to move underwater or something. Nothing was clear, and I couldn't think of anything for very long before I started thinking of Castiel again. I'm no longer under an enchantment, I remember the exact moment it broke. Can you just back off?"

Sam threw himself into a chair and huffed out a breath as he crossed his arms over his chest. "And me going to the university won't change anything. I'm still going to be here for you guys."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, because everyone in Kiminski Village is going to need a lawyer. Like, Ellen is going to hire you to write a will for her."

Bobby pulled a chair up to the little table and sat down between the boys at the round table. "Dean, I think there is a very real possibility that once you get your dad back, you'll want to go off with him. And Sam, I think you need to start thinking about that and maybe stop worrying about King Frost."

Sam and Dean both scowled at each other for the remainder of the evening. That night, Dean was happy that he had his own room so he could think over everything Sam and Bobby had said. By the time morning came, he was exhausted, hadn't slept a wink, and had only come to a few conclusions.

One: he was definitely no longer under an enchantment.

Two: he really couldn't get in the way of Sam going to university because—

Three: he'd totally go with his dad once he freed him.

How he was going to free his father was still beyond him, but he had to admit that if John nodded his head in a direction and said, "Let's go, son," he'd probably just follow along behind him.

Dean threw his pillow across the room and started getting dressed for the day. As he was buttoning his waistcoat, he amended his thinking because he was sure of one thing: once he managed to rescue his dad, he was going to head straight to Castiel's palace, no matter how long it took him to get there, and he was going to have it out with the king.

Besides, Sam was right. He was the Frost King's consort…wasn't he? That was what the legend said, and Castiel said he was beholden to the legends for as long as people believed them. But did that still hold since Dean was no longer enchanted, as per point one?

His musings were cut off by a knock at the door. He made his way into the hall and met up with Bobby and Sam, both looking just as surprised as he felt. Bobby opened the door, and they found a set of guards there wearing the livery of Lord Alistair with a summons for Dean.

They were taken in a carriage to the small castle-like mansion of the lord. There they were greeted in the hall by the selfsame man who was smiling, his teeth sharp at the corners like some sort of wolf.

"And here is Dean Winchester," he drawled. "Delivered to me like a sweet little gift."

He approached Dean and reached out a hand, stroking over his face, caressing down his neck.

"What the hell?" Dean cried, jerking sharply away from Lord Alistair.

"Dean, Dean," Alistair lamented, shaking his head. "I've been waiting for you for so very _long_, and here you are!"

His accent and word cadence were odd, almost like he was speaking in the back of his throat and between his teeth at the same time.

"Yeah, here I am," Dean agreed. "How can I get you to release my father?"

"Your father," Alistair echoed. "Your _father_. Daddy Winchester."

"Hey, could you maybe try to be a little creepier?" Bobby growled. "'Cause I ain't freaked out enough yet."

Alistair finally turned his attention away from intently studying Dean's face and turned to Bobby. "Oh, I can make you feel a lot worse, Mr. Singer." He stalked towards Bobby, his movements methodical as a predator, and Dean moved quickly to get between them. Alistair already had John, Dean couldn't stand it if he got Bobby as well. "Ah, now what's this, Dean-O?" Alistair once again reached out his hand to stroke Dean's cheek. This time, Dean flinched, but stayed still. "Are you compliant now? But ah, you know how to get your way, don't you my boy?"

Dean closed his eyes against the close scrutiny he was getting, but let Alistair touch his cheeks, run his thumb over his lips, and stroke his eyelids. Bobby was right, Alistair was fucking _creepy_. "How do I get my dad back, Lord Alistair?"

Dean opened his eyes to find Alistair smiling at him, and oddly, him smiling was even worse. "You can take his place."

Dean's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to say no, but Sam was there to do it for him.

"No way, John wouldn't want Dean to do that for him!"

Alistair turned his attention now to Sam, and both Bobby and Dean got between them.

"Is that right, Sammy?" Alistair mocked. "John wouldn't want Dean to sacrifice himself? Are you sure 'bout that? Maybe wanna…ask him yourself? I can…arrange it."

Dean stood forward just when Bobby pushed Sam back, bringing Alistair's attention back to him. "He's just beautiful, Dean. I can see why you want to keep him for yourself."

"He's my brother, you sick fuck!" Dean spat.

"But not all the way, is he? He's not really your blood." Alistair gave that same sickly smile. "He's not really yours."

Bobby patted Dean on the shoulder. "He's not going to let him go, son. We should go."

"Oh, I never said I wasn't going to let him go. I told you what the price was. Whaddaya say, Dean-O? Care to trade your life for Daddy's?"

Bobby grabbed Dean's shoulder. "Come on, Son. He's not going to do it. Let's go."

Dean turned to follow Bobby, but Alistair's taunts followed him through the hall. "Yes, go, go, little Dean-O. Can't save Daddy. Couldn't save Mummy."

Bobby's hand on his wrist was the only thing that kept him moving. He shook on the way back to the little house, and Bobby led him to the bedroom and tucked him in like he was a child. He fell asleep almost immediately, not sleeping the night before and the anxiety of the last hour working against him. He could hardly stay awake. He dreamed about blue eyes, soft lips, a kind smile, and a frozen palace that was warm and comforting, no matter how cold and harsh it looked on the outside.

In the middle of the night, he awoke from a fevered dream, something itching at the back of his brain. He desperately scrabbled for Castiel's letter, even though he had practically memorized the whole thing. A strange plan was formulating in his brain, but he was pretty sure he had figured out what to do.


	8. The End

In the northern mountains in a castle of ice and stone lived King frost. It was said that his heart was as cold and hard as a midwinter's night and that the one unwitting enough to find himself caught outside during the first frost of the year would find himself spirited away by the king, forced to be his consort for eternity.

"He's insane," Gabriel said as he and Castiel watched Dean sneak out of the house, leaving a note to Sam and Bobby of his intentions.

"He shows a lot of faith in me," Castiel whispered, his hand stroking his neck. Hope flared in his chest. Dean didn't despise him. Dean trusted him enough to do something supremely stupid and self-sacrificing because he believed Castiel would save him.

Gabriel turned to his cousin. "You can do it, right, Cassie?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes, but…I wish he had given me more time. My power won't work where there is no snow. And what will Lucifer say?"

"Leave it to me," Gabriel winked. "I owe you one anyway. I'll talk to my brother."

Castiel bowed his head in relief. "Thank you, Gabriel. But I still don't know how we'll get there."

Gabriel shrugged. "The old fashioned way, I guess."

}O{

Dean left well before Sam and Bobby woke up because he knew they'd try to stop him. He knew that even though Bobby appeared to be pro-Castiel in the face of Sam's distrust, Bobby would only approve of Castiel to a certain point. Neither of them would have the faith that Dean had, and it was certain that even John would shake his head at Dean's decision.

Dean couldn't let it go, though. He could save his father, and if it meant he was to be Castiel's consort for all of eternity, well, that wouldn't be too bad, would it? If Sammy went to university and then moved to a big city, he could use Castiel's sleigh to visit him, and Castiel might even let him move Bobby and John into the palace…

He sighed and pulled on his coat and hat, closing the door quietly. Maybe he should just start small and save his dad's life first.

The walk to Alistair's castle was long and dark and a little chilly, but soon the sun was out and shining and the southern air warmed more than Dean had ever felt, even in the middle of summer, and he closed his eyes and turned to the east and let the warmth wash over his face and chest. It felt good and pure and if Castiel didn't come through for him, it might be the last chance he'd get to feel the sun shine on his face.

Alistair seemed to have been expecting him since the guards let him pass through the castle gates and into the audience chamber. Alistair himself was waiting, smirking, overjoyed.

"Dean, Dean," he sighed with pleasure, far too much pleasure for such a small gesture, enough pleasure to make Dean's blood freeze. "We are going to have so much fun, Dean." Alistair stood in front of Dean and stroked his cheek. "Release John Winchester. Send him to Dean's family. Tell them they are to leave my lands within the hour. If they don't, they all get thrown into jail and Dean's sacrifice will be for nothing."

Dean shut his eyes against Alistair's face, so close to his. The duke stroked Dean's face, touched his lips, unbuttoned his shirt and threw down his cravat. Dean gulped but didn't push him away. Instead, he silently prayed to Castiel, hoping his king understood that he needed him. Hoping Castiel was on his way even now to save him.

"Don't worry, Dean," Alistair drawled, breath hot on Dean's face. "I'm not going to do anything to you without your permission." He took one of Dean's hands in his and stroked Dean's fingers. "But you will say yes," he stated. "You will say yes, and you will love it."

Dean opened his eyes and glared at Alistair. If there was one thing he was absolutely sure of, it was that he would never say yes to Alistair. Never.

}O{

Sam and Bobby were still puttering around the small house in only trousers and shirts when John was delivered to them along with the message that they were to vacate Lord Alistair's lands within the hour or be thrown in jail. John was barely conscious and kept mumbling for Dean to run, to go away, to let him be. He kept looking at Sam, confused, then at Bobby with slightly less confusion, and then he would go blank again or call out for Dean.

Sam found Dean's letter and skimmed it, then slowed down and read it through, then read it again.

"Well?" Bobby demanded, dumping clothes into a trunk.

Sam shook his head. "He says Castiel is honor bound by the old tales to come for him and claim him, no matter what. As long as we all believe."

John stood up and started pacing, his eyes wild. "Dean, Dean," he mumbled, clutching at his hair. "Not Dean…"

Bobby walked up to the broken man and shook him by the shoulders. "Calm down, John. Dean's okay. He has to be okay. We'll find a way to get him back."

Sam slapped the letter against his hand. "Yeah, and we're going to go find King Frost and make it happen."

Bobby frowned deeply and John took the letter from Sam. "What is this?" he demanded. Between his unshaven, dirty appearance that was clearly the product of being shut up in a prison for years and years and his clear confusion at everyone and everything, he looked like a madman left for bears to raise. "What happened, Bobby? How long…Dean?"

Bobby sighed. "We don't have time. I don't doubt Alistair will make good on his threat to toss us all in prison. Come on, Sam, grab Dean's stuff and let's get going. We can go back a few towns. What was it called? La Cage?"

Sam nodded and looked over at John who was staring at him.

"Dean?" the broken man asked.

Sam shook his head. "I'm not Dean, John. I'm not your son."

John got close to Sam and touched his dirty hand to Sam's clean, hairless face. He was a little older than Dean had been when John left that day, but he had a young, angelic face and hadn't quite hit his growth spurt yet so he was still a little scrawny and small. Sam held still and let John get a good look at him.

"I'm sorry," Sam said when John's hand fell away, tears swimming in his hazel eyes. "We'll get him back, John. We'll get him back."

John stared back, uncomprehending. Sam moved away and did what Bobby told him: packed up Dean's stuff, carried the trunk to the carriage, ordered the horses, and within the hour, they were gone from Alistair's lands and headed towards La Cage where King Lucifer's palace was situated. On the way, Sam tried to help John understand what was happening, and comprehension began to dawn in his eyes, much to Sam's relief.

"You left eight years ago," Sam said. He was trying to keep his voice gentle, not accusatory, but a little harshness seeped in regardless. "Dean was only ten years old. Do you remember?"

John gaped. "Ten? No, no, I…"

"It's been eight years, John," Bobby reiterated. "Look at my beard, look at how gray I've gotten running after our boys." Bobby stroked a hand over his silver beard. "It's been a while."

John stared at Bobby's beard, then sunk forward, burying his face in his hands, his elbows braced on his knees.

"Alistair said he kept you unconscious a good amount of the time," Sam said. "He said you were too unruly awake."

John shook his head back and forth, his hands pulling at his overlong hair. "He wanted me to do things," John said, his voice utterly broken. "Terrible things."

Sam felt his heart lurch. "And now he's going to make Dean do those things."

"If he treats Dean the way he treated me, then he won't touch him without permission. But he'll torture him into saying yes. I'm sure my boy is strong as anything, but I know Alistair too, and he can make you wish you could tell him yes. Dean…Dean's still a kid. He'll say yes."

Sam started to think about Castiel and Dean's letter. "Not if Castiel does what he promised. Or what Dean seems to think he promised." He pulled the letter out and found the relevant sentence, written in Dean's typical messy block letters. _"Cas says he is bound to follow the legends as long as we believe so I guess you guys have to believe that Cas will claim me as his consort."_ Sam held out the letter for Bobby to see.

John looked bewildered. "Who will claim Dean? A man? What—"

Bobby put a hand on John's shoulder. "It's just the way Dean is, John. Castiel is King Frost, and Dean unfortunately was claimed by him because…well, because he used to sit up at nights and stare out the window, looking for you." Bobby "humphed." "Well, I guess he found you, didn't he?"

"I've been gone for eight years?" John asked, still dazed but getting better. "Eight years?"

"Your boy's a man now," Bobby said.

}O{

"Why should I help him, he stole your birthright," Lucifer growled at Gabriel. He really was in a foul mood for no good reason, as usual, and now Gabriel was on the mirror, acting like Lucifer had nothing but time and concern. He had the former, certainly. But not the latter.

"Aw, come on, Lucie. Cassie didn't steal anything from me, I messed up fair and square and we all know Uncle Zack had it in for me." Gabriel shrugged. "Besides, we all know I'd never have done well at this whole King Frost schtick. I'm much better working in the background."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Well, this isn't my problem. If Cassie wants to claim his consort, he'll just have to go through Alistair."

Gabriel sighed and looked sheepish for the first time ever, if Lucifer was any judge of things.

"Lucie, it's my fault Cas is in this position. You see…I was the one who cursed Dean. I…I sort of thought Cassie needed a kick in the romance department, and I thought Dean seemed like a good way to help him out of a slow period. Now he's gone and fallen for the guy, and I want to help, so if I have to call in favors or owe you one or ten, I want to do this, Lucie. Please help me."

Lucifer frowned. "I'll think about it."

He ended the transmission before Gabriel could say anything else and was just about to get up and do something physical to try and dispel his foul mood when another transmission came through.

"Dammit, Gabriel," he growled, then looked at the face smirking smugly at him. "Alistair," he said flatly. "What do you want?"

"I simply wanted to warn you that a group of three is headed your way, and if I can persuade you to send them back my way, I'd appreciate it."

Lucifer already knew that Dean's family was headed in his direction thanks to Gabriel. What he didn't know was why Alistair would want them back once he'd railroaded them out of his town. "Oh? And what reason would they have to return?"

Alistair shrugged elegantly. "I'm sure you could think of some clever way to trick them back into my lands. I think they'd make beautiful trophies in my palace."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. He always forgot, for some unknown reason, just how much he hated Alistair. Then he'd speak with him and remember that he did, and just like now, Alistair would say something supremely stupid and arrogant and set Lucifer's teeth on edge. "Your lands," Lucifer murmured to himself absently. As far as he was concerned, all of the lands in the kingdom were his. Alistair was just a lord. Lucifer had made him, and he could unmake him just as quickly. "Well, I suppose I could speak to them whenever they come into town," he said with a dismissive wave and again ended the transmission before Alistair could say anything in reply. He was done speaking with other people.

With a flick of a finger, Lucifer brought up the image inside Bobby's carriage. He looked over John Winchester, clearly the victim of Alistair's own brand of torture. For the most part, Lucifer left his lords to do whatever they liked, but even he with his disinterested nature felt moved by the view of John Winchester, wasted away, pale, bruised, and clearly disoriented. Lucifer wasn't a cruel man. Cruelty took too much care, too much attention. He was much happier being indifferent to the human aspect of his lands, but it was clear he had been a little too neglectful. This was how revolutions started, and if he wanted to remain king, he'd have to take more of an interest, and that meant he might have to take a stand against Alistair and any others like him.

He sighed and turned away. "When they come, bring them to me," he told the captain of the guard.

}O{

Castiel and Gabriel flew as far south as they could in the wonderful little flying carriage. Balthazar, the North Wind, even sailed along with them for a good portion of the way until they finally went over a mountain range and hit the warmer southern areas. Here there was no snow, no frost. Castiel guided his little carriage down into a wooded area and bid Balthazar goodbye. From here, he and Gabriel were on their own, unless Lucifer saw fit to send them help.

Lucifer, of course, did not see fit. It was obvious after the tenth mile Castiel and Gabriel trod down that no help would be forthcoming. They rested in the shade of a tree and removed their heavy robes and coats. They both had sweat stains under their arms, and Gabriel's hair was nearly damp from sweat.

They finally approached a town and started to inquire about carriages and wagons, but it was a farming town, and farming towns never tended to have spare wagons or carriages, even in the best of times. Even the mayor gave them a blank look when they asked after his personal carriage. The best they could do was buy a horse and be thankful that neither of them weighed too much.

The next town they came to was larger and actually had a public house where they could eat and refresh themselves. It was there that Lucifer finally came to them. Gabriel started muttering about drama queens and Castiel held himself from rolling his eyes when they heard the hooves of his horses, at least eight—who needed eight horses for their carriage?—coming through the cobbled streets and the shouts of the people proclaiming, "The king! The king is coming!"

Gabriel groaned. Castiel sighed.

The door to the inn opened and there was Lucifer.

Behind him was Sam Singer. Castiel was immediately thankful that looks could not actually kill. They could accuse, however, and hold a plethora of unvoiced hurt, and Sam's face did just that.

Castiel wasn't even sure how Sam knew he was King Frost, though he supposed that Dean had waxed slightly poetic about blue eyes, dark hair, and skin like wintry cream. Sam's eyes asked him questions that he couldn't answer, but mostly, "Where have you been? Dean's expecting you. Dean trusts you."

The last was asked with accusation.

Sam said a lot with his eyes.

"Well, well, well," Lucifer drawled. "Hello, baby brother."

Gabriel grinned. "Heya, Lucie. How's it hangin'?"

Castiel jumped in then, because it was just like Lucifer to say something crass in answer to that question. "Sam," he said. "I've wanted to speak with you."

"Ah yes, the chosen one," Lucifer hummed and sat down, calling for refreshment. The innkeeper was already bustling to bring the best of everything for his king. "This one does not like you, Cassie."

Sam frowned at Lucifer. "He took my brother from me."

Lucifer gave them all a rare smile. "I haven't told him yet. Isn't it wonderful, Gabriel?"

Gabriel smiled back, making Castiel roll his eyes. "Sam, I know I owe you a lot, and I will do what I can to help you understand my role in the world, but I fear for Dean. He has already been three weeks with Alistair. Lucifer, have you done nothing?"

"I've been keeping an eye on him. This one won't let me rest unless I let him know how Dean fares."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and glared between Castiel and Lucifer.

"Lucifer, I care for Dean very much," Castiel said.

"Yes, I know, and so I told Alistair he was not to hurt the boy. You are allowed to claim him, but you must fight your way through Alistair's defenses."

Castiel sighed. "It is as I feared. I have no power here if you will not permit Frost to spread!"

Lucifer reached out a hand and touched Castiel's arm, making him shudder. His touch was as ice. "I run cold. I need the warmth."

Sam scowled at Lucifer, and Castiel found himself momentarily grateful that the boy had found another antagonist.

"He refuses to help Dean."

"Hey, I'm helping," Lucifer said, picking up a tankard of ale as the proprietor laid the table out. "Castiel can go in and get his boytoy back, but he has to fight fair and square."

"And get himself killed in the process," Gabriel grumbled.

Lucifer shrugged. "I didn't say he had to go in alone."

Castiel sighed. He was remembering why Gabriel was the only member of this side of the family that he ever spoke with. But still, Lucifer clearly, through his many layers of non-answers and hints, was telling him that he would have help. Castiel allowed himself a glimmer of hope. Maybe he'd be able to do this after all.

}O{

It was dark and dizzying and cold and hot and Dean was confused because he blinked and it went from night to day and then it was night again and Sammy…where was Sammy? Was he safe? Dad? Dad, did he get away? Where were they?

Alistair stood in front of him, "Come on, Dean-O," he breathed, caressing Dean's face, his bare chest. "Aw, tell me you want it, boy."

A knife traced where his fingers touched and Dean cried out in pain, the feel of hot blood against his skin searing into him as much as the knife blade.

"I can make allllll the pain go away, Deany," hot breath on his face. "Deany beany." A hand at his waistband. "It doesn't have to be like this."

Dean's head swam. His arms shook. The idea that he could be free…free from the pain…free to move…free to…

"Let Ally make you feel good, sweet boy…"

"Noooo!" Dean shouted. "Go to hell, fucker!" And then he spat in Alistair's face.

Alistair wiped off his cheek. "Wrong choice, Dean-O."

Dean was about to retort when Alistair hit him with another spell, and he was pulled back into nightmares of Sam being pulled apart piece by piece, or Bobby, or his dad, or Cas…and sometimes it was Dean who was doing the cutting.

Sometimes he threw his head back and laughed as they shrieked and cried under his hand and his knife. He reveled in their pain because at least it wasn't his…

The worst part was when he woke up and remembered. Remembered that he had tortured them, even though it was just a dream. He felt bad, raw, horrible. He felt like he was Alistair, playing with people's lives, their pain, making them feel what they didn't want to feel. He felt dirty and it went clear to his bone and he knew nothing would ever get him clean.

Castiel had given up on him. Castiel could see anything in his mirror, he probably saw Dean's dreams and knew the horrible ways that Dean was willing to torture him, the ways that Dean wanted to remove his eyes, slice up his cheeks, cut deep grooves into his perfect chest and back…

Dean sobbed at his wakefulness. At least when he was dreaming of torture, he didn't have to reflect on the fact that he felt willing to do so when he was under Alistair's thrall.

He knew, in a detached way, in that way that reminded him of when he was under Castiel's spell, but there was none of the warmth, none of the feeling he had for Castiel, that he didn't actually want to torture, that he did not wish to hurt anyone. He just didn't seem to be able to tell himself that when he was put to sleep under Alistair's spell.

The pain of waking, though, was what kept him grounded, what helped him say no when Alistair offered him pleasure instead of pain. He knew he didn't deserve the pleasure, so he had the fortitude to say no. And he said no and no and no and he called and prayed for Castiel, prayed for deliverance, prayed even as he cut into Sammy's wrists, even as he made filets out of Bobby's calves or cut his father's fingers off one by one.

He opened his eyes and saw Castiel and started crying because it was so wrong that he could only see Cas if he was going to beat the shit out of him.

"No," he moaned. "No, don't make me."

"Dean," Castiel said, grabbing his shoulder. "We have fought to get to you. It's time. You need to come with me."

"Please, don't make me hurt him again."

"I won't, Dean," Castiel said. "Now come with me."

Dean shook his head. He didn't want to go walking down any horrible hallways with Castiel only to throw him off of a tower or into a fireplace. "No, no…"

Castiel grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him upright. "Now, Dean."

Dean looked up and stood. "Okay," he said. Maybe he'd throw himself into the fire this time.

They walked down a hallway. There was blood on the ground. Dean could hear shouts. His dreams were getting worse, more lifelike. Castiel had a sword in his hand and every now and then he'd parry with someone, then thrust home and continue to pull Dean along. This was new.

"You're not taking him anywhere, Castiel," Alistair drawled in his slow, steady voice.

"I am the Frost King, and I claim my consort that you have taken!" Castiel answered back, letting go of Dean who sank to the floor and giggled to himself.

This was definitely new. Castiel was going to kick Alistair's ass. And then maybe he'd kill Dean next and put him out of his misery.

"Your consort gave himself to me!" Alistair shot back, parrying, thrusting. Their swords moved so quickly that Dean, in his drugged, bespelled state could hardly keep track of them.

"Dean, ya gotta snap out of it, kiddo," Gabriel said, slapping him on the back of the head. "Come on, get up, you gotta walk."

Dean stood. He was feeling. He could feel everything. He was awake.

"Gabe?"

"Yeah, on your feet."

Dean stood up, his legs shaky. Gabriel had never been in his dreams before. He didn't know why. He should have been, really, since Dean actually sort of liked the little bastard.

"Think you can handle a knife or a sword?" Gabriel asked when Dean was on his feet, leaning heavily against Gabriel's back and shoulder.

"Um…yeah. Sure."

Gabriel shrugged him off and handed him a knife. "You gotta do this, Dean. Alistair is going to rip Castiel apart if you don't help him."

Dean figured he had one last chance to redeem himself. One last chance to do the right thing. He had to help Castiel. So he took his knife and joined the fray. Alistair's sword came down on Castiel's and sparks flew, but Dean leapt onto the evil man and plunged his knife deep into his arm. Alistair yelled and threw Dean off, giving Castiel a chance to swing his sword, driving it home in Alistair's other arm. Gabriel was valiantly holding off the guards with other men, soldiers of some sort. Amongst them was a tall man with light strawberry blond hair who looked vaguely familiar.

Dean turned back to his fight with Alistair. He wanted to kill him for what he did, for John and the dreams and the drugs and all of that…

"Get _behind_ me!" Castiel yelled, pulling Dean back, just in time to keep Alistair's poorly aimed sword from sinking into Dean's shoulder.

"You came for me," Dean said, amazed. "I didn't think you'd come."

Castiel gave him that irritated look, the same look he'd given him that very first night, the look that told him he was exasperated that that Dean was in the way and silly and…and Dean wanted to smile because it was just so _Cas_.

He turned back to the fight in time to see Castiel take the full force of Alistair's sword and weight, which was more than Castiel's by quite a bit. Alistair looked triumphant when Castiel fell and raised his sword once more, thinking he could win this one. But he had forgotten Dean and his knife.

Dean had never been terrific at throwing knives, but he and Sammy liked to play around with them after they sharpened them in the smithy, and what Dean lacked in accuracy, he made up for in power. So he took the knife, gripped it tight, and threw it with all his might. He knew it didn't need to hit anything vital, just hurt enough to throw Alistair off for the few moments Dean figured it would take for Castiel to regroup and deliver a killing blow.

Dean didn't count on his aim being good enough to hit Alistair smack in the middle of his neck. To throw him to the ground. To kill him.

The spell died with Alistair, and Dean fell to the ground, the snap of the spell giving him a feeling of giddy lightness, making him feel sick and scared. Castiel bent over him and he grabbed his arm. "Don't leave me," he begged. "Don't leave me…"

Castiel shook his head. "I won't, Dean. I won't let go."

An epic epilogue sexytimes is all we have left. And there will be some wrap-up of Sam and Bobby and John. Because they all deserve happy endings too.

Sorry I had to get so plot cheesy. But I had to. I really did.


End file.
